The Circle
The circle is not a form, it is survival.
It shelters me from the noise outside, from the straight lines that try to cut through my soul.
Inside it, I can breathe. I can fall apart. I can exist without pretending.
Here, silence moves like blood. Light trembles.
Each element fights for its place, chaos and order tearing each other apart until they become one.
I sink, I rise, I lose myself, I return.
Every painting is a wound that learns to heal through color.
The circle is my body and my refuge, my cycle of death and rebirth.
Gravity pulls me down, but creation lifts me higher.
Within this motion I meet the Superconsciousness
the pulse that reminds me I am still alive……………………….
— Priscila Monsalve Verdugo