An ancient azure stele stands, veined with night like a forgotten text.
Time sleeps there in alveoli, each cavity a breath snatched from the blizzard, each fracture a syllable of shadow.
The ice speaks softly: it remembers motionless oceans, moons without witnesses, a cold fervor that baptizes silence.
Beneath the blue skin, dark veins write the cryoglyphs of Hadeïdon: iceberg prayer, reliquary of frost, memory sealed in salt and light.
The leaden sky consecrates the altar; the water, a docile mirror, collects the offering. Nothing stirs, everything persists. Here, the storm has ceased to will, and beauty consents to erosion.
The moment stands like a sunken cathedral: fragile, sovereign, eternal enough that we can still hear the first sentence of the world.
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Reproductions, Impressions sur toile, Impression sur métal