Ice Sculpture by Andy Goldsworthy
In the ice of circles, I see a trilogy based on the mystery of life, where true ambition guides one to the end of a great journey, seeing as nothing seems to last forever. Written in Arabic, it is the language that seems so delicate and intricate, deeming it a worthy read. Each rim in the ice displays the unseen future; ten years, fifteen years, twenty years of upcoming events that will make or break our world. The circle itself is a portal, enabling one to jump into the future and glimpse at what our world has become. The structure resembles the pure innocence of a child; with the form itself being the new born brain ready to learn, the first two rims being the unbroken heart, and the rest of the carvings the pure, untouched soul.
But as the days go on and the innocent child grows, the structure starts to turn black as the news of the world sinks in the brain, the heart gets broken once and then twice over, and polluted hands contact the soul.
I see it detonating into a billion snowflakes, none the same, before coming together to form the whitest of angel wings. But then the wings slowly begin to burn crisply before they turn a charred black, because even the purest of hearts can turn darkly black by just a wrong touch.