Ovidiu Kloska, Imperfect Oneiric Vase with Night Flowers, Acrylic on Canvas

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"Imperfect Oneiric Vase with Night Flowers"
from the series “Kafkian Eternity with Flowers at 7 PM”
by Ovidiu Kloska

“In … Read more "Imperfect Oneiric Vase with Night Flowers"
from the series “Kafkian Eternity with Flowers at 7 PM”
by Ovidiu Kloska

“In dreams begin responsibilities.” – Delmore Schwartz

In "Imperfect Oneiric Vase with Night Flowers", Ovidiu Kloska offers another luminous fragment from his ongoing visual philosophy: a meditation on memory, fragility, and the spectral persistence of beauty. As with the other works in the Kafkian Eternity series, this painting transcends the genre of still life, evolving into a metaphysical inquiry rendered in pigment and texture.

Here, the vase is barely a presence—more a suggestion, an echo. The boundaries between object and atmosphere collapse in layers of veiled color, fractured reflection, and textured opacity. We are not given flowers, but rather the haunting of flowers—their nighttime counterparts, grown in shadow, remembered in sleep, blooming in the imperfect soil of lost time.

Green flashes like fading hope, violet bleeds like memory, and petals dissolve into a smoky aurora of half-forgotten light. The composition, both delicate and turbulent, evokes the subconscious—not as chaos, but as a quiet, sacred decay. The imperfections are intentional: cracks in porcelain, distortions in glass, the erosion of form—all echo the emotional erosion wrought by time and longing.

There is no literal vase here. There is only the trace of having once held something alive.

In the context of the Kafkian series, this piece feels like a nocturne, a whispered monologue at dusk. The 7 PM hour—the moment when the day exhales—is not just a temporal setting but a psychological state. The “imperfect” here is not a flaw, but a form of truth made visible.

Kloska continues to resist the decorative impulse of traditional still life and instead invites us into a sublime zone of dissolution, where form emerges and recedes like breath on cold glass. We are not merely observers—we are implicated. We are within the vapor, among the remnants, beneath the bloom.

This is not a vase.
This is a dream that remembers it once was one. See less