Works Of Art

Imagine drifting into sleep beneath a canopy of dreams, while zeppelins move silently across the sky of your inner world—not dropping destruction, but fragments of meaning. Symbols. Questions. Forgotten truths.

For me, this image is not just about the surreal beauty of floating machines or the quiet of night.
It’s about how we deal with memory—personal and collective.
The zeppelin once stood for innovation and awe. Later, it became a shadow, burdened by catastrophe.
But in this work, I try to see beyond that binary.
I don’t glorify it, and I don’t condemn it.
I ask: what if we allowed ourselves to feel both?

Because behind every invention, behind every historical weight, lies something deeper.
Something we once buried—out of shame, out of fear, or simply because it hurt too much to look.

This painting is my way of listening.
To the silence between facts.
To the dream-memory of a world that once believed in flying,
and then forgot what it meant.

It’s a still space, filled with suspended movement.
A kind of inner sky.
And sometimes, when I look at it, I feel like it’s not telling me something new—but reminding me of something I already knew, long ago.
Something that was never really gone—just waiting to rise again in another form.