The Silent Power Within
When I set out to paint Excalibur, I wasn’t just drawn to the legend of the sword, I was drawn to the idea of what it represents. It is more than an artifact of power; it is a question, waiting to be answered. 
Who is worthy? 
And more importantly, what does worthiness even mean?
I painted the sword embedded in a fractured stone, its cracks glowing with golden light, as if the weight of destiny itself had reshaped its foundation. 
To me, this symbolizes the trials of the soul, the way we are broken and remade by the choices we face. Strength alone cannot claim the sword; it demands something deeper, something unseen.
The world around it remains untouched, indifferent to human ambition. 
The towering trees fade into a distant golden light, whispering of something beyond the known. The river flows as it always has, unconcerned with legend, just as time moves forward, unshaken by the weight of destiny. 
And in the foreground, two deer graze, embodying a different kind of strength, the quiet resilience of trust, of living in harmony rather than seeking dominion.
But the sword remains. 
Justice, like Excalibur, rests in the eye of its beholder, offering its weight but never casting judgment. 
It cannot be both, the judge, and the judged, for the moment it claims absolute authority, it risks losing the very balance it was meant to uphold.
Perhaps that is why it waits, buried in silence, knowing that the one who seeks it must first reckon with the truth it reflects.
This painting is not about victory; it is about the journey to understanding one’s own worth. 
And perhaps, in the end, that is the greatest legend of all.