During the process, almost intuitively, recurring patterns of crosses and stars began to appear. They were not planned, but they insisted on being there, like symbols that needed to manifest. For me, these shapes are traces of the spiritual. They led me to recognize — more clearly than ever — that artistic creation is also a path of connection with God. In every stroke, in every color, there is a silent dialogue with the divine, a search for meaning and light. The cross, as the axis of the day, a center that radiates, a sun that orders, and the stars, dispersed, multiple, silent witnesses of the inner night. The cross, as a solar figure, is not only a sign of faith but also of structure: it is the point where the vertical and the horizontal meet, like the celestial and the earthly, like heaven and the body. The stars, on the other hand, are moments of light offered without imposing. They speak in the plural, they flicker, they suggest. They are the living night, open, vulnerable. In them there is no center, but expansion. They are more questions than answers, and that is why they invite me to enter. My work shares a purpose similar to stained glass. Although my art is abstract, in my paintings, light and color function as means to create a mystical atmosphere. Just as stained glass transforms light into a religious experience, color in my works becomes a tool of revelation. Each painting is an invitation to look inward. The garden, more than a physical space, becomes a mental state. There, in that intersection between the natural, the intimate, the artistic, and the sacred, is where this work is born. There is no intention to narrate, but to evoke; there are no figures, but presences.