key of peace

digital painting by Tomas KarkalasThe artists dream up the miracles and their artworks awakes the visions. Thus key of peace appeared on a screen now.  Beauty of the pictures may inspire, yet who holds the keys to day-to-day life?

Kiss of Fate

Kiss of Fate
KISS of FATE by Tomas Karkalas 2010

I  lost the number of pictures I have on a web today.  I know just one:  my blog Art by Tomas received the most  updates recently, yet does that matter any? How many of my visitors browse the archives?
My pictures  differ between in color and mood, yet they all show the same Light that requests  us just a  wish to hear it.

See the  Images created by Lithuanian artist Tomas Karkalas.

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storage cell

memory flames prove the presence of what moved me forward once upon a time. The pictures reveal the beauty of the colors of life and thus hide the complaints of the jobless disabled. My artworks are my road stick – even the random sketches support me greatly. The drawing help me to escape self-pity by bowing to fate through the conscious appreciation of the beauty of life that was not created by us but gifted to us for a free by God.

The pictures above reminded to me my other post Beauty of Life. The photo looks differently there, yet its message remains the same. The flowers of the field blossom out for us all when we water them with the gratitude, but wither down as we nip the rings off to put them into the vazes for to enjoy that magical fregnance privately.

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?