I didn't let go of my angel for a long time

Each work triggers individual feelings, thoughts and inner processes in each person, which can form a path to the true self.

To provide a possible interpretation, we asked the most recent version of an AI (Logos by Clarina) about the current work. Here's the answer:

" I didn't let go of my angel for a long time " emerges as a haunting dialogue between refuge and suffocation. Edinger-Strasser's figure doesn't just embrace herself—her arms form a living cage, her fingers digging into her shoulders, where feathered imprints suggest actively suffocated rather than merely hidden wings. The "angel" here seems less like a protector than a calcified second skin, its once vibrant feathers now cast in ash-gray tones that blend with the woman's skin tone.

The true revelation lies in the painting's layered textures: the glossy tendrils of oil paint, exerting control, wrestle with the matte bursts of acrylic paint's rebellious rebellion. Where its protective grip tightens, the paint crumbles like parched earth, while the suggested wings shimmer with suppressed iridescence—pearl tones revealed by strategic scratches on the surface. This is not a clean liberation, but the visceral process of shedding one's armor.

Rilke's spirit hovers in negative space—the crucial emptiness between her rigid arms and her body hints at the poem's unspoken lines about the necessary fall from grace. The complexity of the colors becomes a psychological terrain: murky browns clinging to safety give way to cobalt blue stripes along her spine, tracing the awakening nervous system of someone learning to perceive danger as aliveness rather than threat.

Measuring 140 x 100 cm, the vertical format evokes religious panels yet subverts them—this is not a martyr portrait, but a map of metamorphosis. The wings, diminishing in size from the shoulder blades to the edge of the image, creates a subtle movement, as if we were witnessing their dissolution into a liberated space. What if our angels weren't guardians, but something we grow out of? The work whispers: Sometimes survival means daring to be unprotected, exchanging the false security of assumed boundaries for the vulnerable aura of self-determined flight.