In Sola Gratia, grace is not distant or ethereal but rooted in the everyday—unexpected, defiant, and alive. The title, meaning “by grace alone”, anchors the work in a long tradition of reflection on what it means to endure, to be given more than we can earn, and to survive despite adversity.
The central vessel becomes both a container and a paradox: decorated with a fierce black dog yet blooming with cactus flowers, it speaks of resilience born in harsh conditions, beauty that insists on thriving where it should not. The small bird at its side and the solitary pink flower floating above extend the theme of grace as fragile but persistent—arriving quietly, almost unannounced.
Naïve in form but layered in symbolism, the work draws from the outsider traditions that shape my practice: bold outlines, direct storytelling, and imagery that bypasses convention to speak plainly. Grace here is not a lofty theological concept but something wild, fierce, and unexpected—emerging through thorns, defiance, and survival.
By grace alone: to bloom, to endure, to create.