CONSCIOUS LIFE
(PROJECT IN PROGRESS)
When I brought the flowers home, I had no idea it would be the beginning of a long observation.
I placed one flower in water and left the other without it.
Every day, I watched them. The one in water gradually bloomed, while the other first bowed its “head” and then lifted it again. Over time, it became fragile, its color, structure, and shape changed.
Watching this over the next nine days, I wrote down my thoughts about the wilting process.
And the first question that came to my mind was — What is water to us?
It is love, emotions, experiences, impressions — the things that give our life meaning.
Some, like flowers, receive enough water and remain full of life for a long time.
Others, living in emptiness like flowers without water, wither much faster.
But wilting is inevitable for all...
And still, what remains afterward?
For flowers — seeds, bulbs, roots...
For people — perhaps a trace in the hearts of others.
Maybe the meaning of life is not to resist wilting, but to bloom, to fill the world with oneself, to leave something behind.
This project is a reflection on life and death.
On how we change.
On how even in withering, there is beauty — because it is part of a natural cycle.
A SMALL STORY.
Deep in the garden, where morning dew trembled on the leaves, two flowers grew.
Each morning, they stretched toward the sun, soaking in its warmth, opening their petals to life.
One day, a person cut them and brought them home.
One was placed in water, while the other was left lying on the table.
Days passed.
The flower in the water stood proudly, its petals glowing, enjoying the soft morning light.
The flower without water remained the same for a while, but soon its stem began to dry, its petals shriveled, its color faded.
— You are losing yourself, — said the flower in the water.
— I am simply following my own path, — replied the other.
Days went by.
The flower without water crumbled into delicate petals. They settled on the table, light as feathers.
The person gathered them, went out into the garden, and, with a flick of the hand, let them drift in the wind.
Time passed, and suddenly, a new flower bloomed in the garden.
It stretched toward the sun, soaking in its warmth, opening its petals to life.
We are all like flowers.
We live, we bloom, and then we go.
But something remains after us—words, emotions, memories, inspiration.
And perhaps that is our immortality.
