My Window

Its not just a still life, its an illustration of the lives of millions of people. Behind the glass, high-rises have grown over the years, so monotonous and impersonal. They look more like bee honeycombs than human dwellings. In the narrow gap between them I can see forest, it seems immense, but unfortunately, I saw it polluted with garbage dumps and plastic waste.
And on the plastic, perfect white windowsill is not a random set of objects. A plaster skull, as a traditional reminder of death. Pills, as a symbol of trying to delay death as much as possible. And the ficus sprout, as a symbol of life in a lifelessly perfect space.
The painting is a reminder of the value of life, the value of nature.