If you've been following my work, you know I only accept Bitcoin.
No banks. No intermediaries. No inflation diluting value.
Every painting I've made β from the smallest clouds to the largest landscapes β is here:
Isolabellart
Isolabellart
Original oil paintings
At the center, a crack.
Not darkness. Not light.
The moment when the square breaks open and reveals what lies beyond.
The silence doesn't end here. It transforms.
#art #artstr #painting #isolabellart
Inside the square, two orders of life.
The organic and the geometric, living together without conflict.
Not one, not the other. Both.
This is what happens when you stop asking nature to choose.
#art #artstr #painting #isolabellart
One week of work.
Layers building.
The light finding its way through.
This painting comes from a photograph by
Someone once asked me: "What does abstract art mean?"
I said: "What does music in a foreign language mean?"
You don't know the words. But you feel the sadness, the joy, the longing.
That's abstraction.
Not something to decode. Something to experience.
Not something critics explain. Something your body already knows.
Color is melody. Form is rhythm. Silence is the space between notes.
You don't need to understand it.
You just need to stop asking if you should.
#art #artstr #painting #isolabellart
I've been thinking about abstract art lately.
A lot of people say: "I don't understand it."
As if there's something to solve. A code to crack. A meaning hidden that only critics know.
But here's the thing:
Abstract art is like listening to music in a language you don't speak.
You don't understand the words. But it moves you anyway.
The melody doesn't need translation. The rhythm doesn't need explanation.
You just... feel it.
That's what abstraction is. Not a puzzle. Not a test.
Just color, form, and the space between them β speaking directly to something that doesn't need words.
You don't need to "get it."
You just need to let it in.
#art #artstr #painting #isolabellart
The lingering brightness. Fragile yet persistent. A flame unwilling to yield to the dark.
The third of SILENCE AMONG THE CLOUDS.
That moment when the light doesn't go suddenly β it lingers. Fades. But doesn't disappear quietly. It insists, for just a little longer.
This is the silence of resistance. Gentle, but stubborn.
20Γ20cm, oil on cradled wood panel
Available now: 180,000 sats (shipping included)
π
The silent tension. The suspended breath of what is about to arrive.
The second of SILENCE AMONG THE CLOUDS.
Not the thunder itself β but the waiting. The moment before. When the air holds everything and releases nothing.
Sometimes silence isn't the absence of sound. It's the presence of what hasn't happened yet.
20Γ20cm, oil on cradled wood panel
Available now: 180,000 sats (shipping included)
π