‘Kalandra’ 2024 Acrylic on MDF 20x30cm

When I began working on "Kalandra," my intention was to create a piece that felt both primordial and deeply personal, portraying the cycle of life as a visceral, self-consuming process. The central figure is an embodiment of paradox: a mother, a monster, a prisoner, and a deity all at once.

Its body is cracked and dry, representing not just immense age but also the idea that its vitality is being drawn out to nourish new life. It is physically bound to the earth, its lower body dissolving into roots—a symbol of being consumed by one's origins and the inescapable pull of the past. In stark contrast, its upper body reaches for the sky, for a higher state of being. The expression is key; it’s not sad or malicious, but deeply weary, carrying the weight of time. The hollow eyes are those of a passive conduit for existence, a being that has seen countless cycles of birth and decay pass without judgment.

The most direct visualization of the theme is the infant, which grows from the creature’s own body. The umbilical cord isn't severed; it snakes back into the earth, and the child, in chewing it, isn't just feeding from its parent, but directly from the primordial source—the very soil its parent is becoming. The future is literally rooted in the decay of the past. The freshly torn heart it holds is the raw, beating life force, a symbol of the vitality and sacrifice that anoints the soil and feeds those roots.

The name, 'Kalandra,' is layered with meaning that speaks to the piece's central paradox. At its root, it's a Greek name meaning 'lovely one' or 'shining,' which creates a stark, almost tragic contrast with the weary, monstrous figure rooted in a bloody landscape. This initial irony then connected for me with two other sources. The first is the Norwegian band Kalandra, whose music carries a sense of ancient folklore, melancholy, and immense natural power—a feeling that resonated deeply with the atmosphere I was trying to capture. The second is the Calandra lark, a bird of the sky, which further deepens the duality. The name, therefore, holds the entire conflict: a creature of the earth, bound and decaying, given a name that speaks of light, beauty, and the freedom of the sky.

Ultimately, "Kalandra" is my meditation on the savage beauty of existence—the inescapable, messy, bloody, and sacred connection between creation and decay.