BLUE PLANET

Mixed media, acrylic, epoxy resin, iridescent glitter on canvas The distance between fire and water is only a few million kilometers. In *Planète Bleue*, an enormous sun fills the entire left side of the canvas with blazing orange, solar yellow, and acid green in places, as if the star itself were overflowing with its own energy and could no longer contain itself. Its surface is alive, turbulent, crisscrossed by black veins and white swirls. A sun that is not dying, but rather existing with an almost unbearable intensity. Wispy plumes of white vapor escape from it—solar gas, a fleeing corona, its arms reaching out toward what orbits around it. These filaments connect to a golden sphere in the upper right—a planet-satellite encased in resin, enveloped in clouds as if in a cocoon. In the lower right, the blue planet responds to all this with supreme serenity. White and bluish, cratered, it shines with a cold, pure light. A world of ice or water, at a respectful distance from the solar fury. Too far away to burn. Close enough to exist. Between the two, the blackness of space sparkles with multicolored glitter—blue, red, and gold—reminding us that the void is never truly empty. It is full of what we cannot yet see. *Blue Planet* speaks of what keeps us alive: the right distance. Not too close, so as not to be consumed. Not too far, so as not to freeze. That fragile, improbable, miraculous balance that some call luck. Others call it home.