avalanche

Avalanche

Avalanche is a powerful charcoal drawing that draws viewers into a landscape both majestic and unsettling—a place where nature’s scale meets the weight of human meaning. At the heart of the composition is a monumental mountain range, rendered with striking detail and dramatic contrast. Its jagged peaks rise with force, reaching toward the sky like ancient monuments. But this isn’t just a depiction of a place—it’s a meditation on power, faith, fragility, and choice.

At the summit of the central peak, the word “GOD” is inscribed—quietly, but unmistakably. It sits there like a whisper at the top of the world, inviting reflection rather than declaration. Its presence blurs the boundary between the physical and the spiritual, suggesting that what we see in nature may also reflect something deeper, something divine. It evokes the idea of ascent not just as a physical act, but as a spiritual one—of striving toward something beyond ourselves.

On either side of the composition, the words “LEFT” and “RIGHT” appear—written in bold red, marked with symbolic weight. “LEFT” is crossed out; “RIGHT” is marked with a white cross. These aren’t just coordinates—they’re choices, oppositions, echoes of moral or philosophical divides. The ambiguity they carry invites personal interpretation. Are they about direction? Ideology? A moment of decision? The tension between the two leaves the viewer suspended in that space of uncertainty.

To the right, a swirling black cloud encroaches—a heavy, ominous presence that stands in stark contrast to the solidity of the mountains. It feels alive, almost sentient, as if it threatens to swallow the scene whole. This dark mass suggests that even the most seemingly indestructible forms can be undone. It becomes a symbol of nature’s volatility, of the collapse always waiting at the edge.

The emotional depth of Avalanche is heightened by the artist’s masterful use of charcoal. Through chiaroscuro—the push and pull of light and shadow—the mountains come to life. Edges catch the light, while shadows deepen the mystery of what lies beyond. The textures are tactile and raw. There’s a sense of presence, of silence, of looming force.

This isn’t just a technical feat—it’s a deeply reflective work. The drawing holds space for spiritual searching, for philosophical tension, and for the fragile balance between permanence and erosion. The contrast between the heavy, grounded terrain and the void-like dark cloud captures the duality at the heart of the piece.

Avalanche doesn’t offer answers—it opens questions. About belief. About direction. About the forces that build us up, and those that threaten to undo us. And about the quiet, powerful moments when we find ourselves standing in between. JC

Mechanics (Triptych)

In this triptych of small charcoal drawings, Jorge Da Cruz turns his attention to the quiet, powerful shifts that shape the natural world over time. Though each drawing measures just 40 by 30 centimeters, their impact feels much larger. Together, these three works—Mechanics: Retreat, Mechanics: Erosion, and Mechanics: Collapse—form a meditation on change, impermanence, and the slow forces that shape the earth.

The first drawing, Mechanics: Retreat, captures the moment when ice begins to give way to water. It’s a subtle transition, drawn with restraint. Delicate marks show the ice softening, its weight loosening. There’s tension in the stillness, as if the ice is holding on just a little longer before letting go. It’s a quiet surrender, and within it, a reminder that even the most solid forms are always in motion.

In Mechanics: Erosion, the focus shifts to the slow wearing-down of the landscape. There’s no single dramatic event here—just time, working steadily. Layered textures and muted tones evoke the quiet persistence of erosion. The drawing captures how the earth reshapes itself gradually, without spectacle. Da Cruz honors the patience of this process and the quiet power it carries.

The final piece, Mechanics: Collapse, brings a sense of release. Dense, dark forms break apart into lighter, fragmented areas, suggesting a structure—rock, ice, or land—finally giving way. There’s drama in the contrast, but it doesn’t feel violent. Even in collapse, there’s a kind of order, a rhythm. It’s not an ending, but part of a larger cycle.

Together, these three small drawings form a thoughtful and cohesive whole. Their intimate scale draws the viewer in, encouraging a slower, more careful way of looking—mirroring the very processes they explore. Through the richness of charcoal and the precision of his touch, Da Cruz finds poetry in the earth’s transformations.

What makes this triptych so moving is its ability to find meaning in what’s often overlooked. By focusing on retreat, erosion, and collapse, Da Cruz shows that nature’s power lies not just in force, but in time. These works remind us that even the most permanent-seeming things are constantly changing—quietly, patiently, and with purpose.