Life’s secret

Tomas Karkalas ~ life's secret 2015

Tomas Karkalas ~ life’s secret 2015

Has a disable the right to dream?

The wish to share the artworks with you looks nicely but it is impossible to do that without your support. The Loneliness and  meaningless are inseparable between.

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miracle of breakthrough the artwork to oneself

 The above photos may look downbeat  at first glimpse, yet the flat surface of the pictures will make you  open your eyes with just incredible depth at a moment you recognize the symbolism of these images. The pictures look prosy until we examine them as some handicrafts and label according to the applied technique. Therefore there is no wonder for current world just threatens the observer with the freezing cold. Yet just the miracles happen time from time, when the beholder succeed in breakthrough  the surface of artwork to ONESELF, when he is sat back in awe by the personal reminiscence that fire up everything around, when the awakened dreams color the dust of life by transforming the competition for survival into the gratitude for being alive…
The artworks  knock on the heart and the visual stories work like real magical wands.  The titles try to explain that mystery, and the art critics typically succeed to make everything clear …So just the diaries of the artists rehabilitate the mystery of the life/ the refreshing beauty of our awe towards the always wondrous light… on the temporally dark my path – read here … 
Thank you in advance.

the test of the fabulous stories


Wow, just fabulous stories filled the room… while viewing my album. The memory of the past events proved the reality of the impossibility. The recognized as a disabled for life arranged lots of art shows all over his country and the abroad. Thus the truth became a test to me. I could either boast my colorful biography or recall the people who helped me to stand up and care of me until now


You see my wife Elzbieta on this shot. The photo was taken in exhibition of my works. Yet such truth would be the lie. I just signed the canvases that were planted in my heart by Elzbieta and blossomed out there. Not I but she was the artist worthy of praise. The above statement is not a sound bite, but the truth. Just think. While one bothered his head about the framing of the pictures, the other cared of the flowers in the garden, worried over their comfort under the snow, did everything for the flowers not freeze. Which of them was the artist?

What spreads the gratitude and inspires the awe? Is that the paints on a paper, or the living by faith?