Ancestors

Ancestors is a sculpture about continuity, not about the past. Two figures – an old man and an old woman – are united in a single block of stone, as if time itself had been compressed into a stable form. Their bodies touch, lean on, extend into each other.

The old man has a marked face, a heavy beard, a deep gaze – not stern, but one that knows. He does not judge or command. He simply stands, like a presence that has been through a lot and has remained. The old woman, on the other hand, has smooth features, almost smiling, serene.

The stone arch in the back is a key element. It suggests the gate of time, the house, the threshold, or even the vault of heaven. Under this arch, the ancestors are sheltered from the world, as in a sacred space of memory. It is the place where identity is transmitted without words, without explanation.

The rough texture of the sandstone speaks of hard times, of lives lived in harsh conditions. The stone is not polished to perfection; on the contrary, it preserves imperfections, like memories that should not be erased. Here, the Ancestors are not idealized – they are real, heavy, oppressive, but necessary.

Ancestors functions as a silent landmark. It does not commemorate an event, but a condition: that of being a bearer of those who came before. The sculpture does not demand admiration, but recognition – the recognition that every step forward has a weight behind it that makes it possible. In essence, Ancestors is a work about living memory: not the written one, not the celebrated one, but the one carried in the body, in the name, in the way of being.