For Kolahon, that moment took the shape of a sonic trauma: an incessant ringing, an invasive presence that became an inner sun, small yet relentless. Not a sound to be erased, but a burning nucleus to be listened to, an impulse that ultimately guided his artistic research. Dying Sun originates here, from the courage not to resist pain but to transform it into vision, from the recognition that what consumes can also illuminate.

This collection is built on an archetypal cycle: chaos, silence, rebirth. It is a structure that belongs not only to the artist’s individual experience but to the rhythm of existence itself. Like the collapse of a star, disorder is the beginning, the tension that tears and burns; silence is suspension, not absence, but a liminal condition in which the ego dissolves; rebirth is the fragile light that emerges from fragments, a new self that does not erase what was, but recomposes it in an unprecedented form. This cycle, reminiscent of the death-and-rebirth myths of ancient cosmogonies, becomes in Kolahon’s practice a visual and sensorial journey without beginning or end, repeating itself like a cosmic breath.

The artist’s journey to K2’s basecamp becomes a metaphor for this process. Beneath the immensity of the Milky Way, in absolute silence, the self dissolved, leaving only the perception of the infinite. In that instant, the boundary between fragility and greatness, between microcosm and macrocosm, disappeared. Kolahon’s art does not attempt to illustrate that experience; it evokes it, translates it into images and materials capable of opening the same threshold for the viewer. It is not the representation of the sublime, but its incarnation in fragments, cycles of light and shadow, interior sounds that become visual forms.

The use of materials reveals the artist’s will to hold together what appears irreconcilable. The digital, with its orbital movements and immersive video works, suggests infinity and instability; ceramics, fragile and terrestrial, recounts collapse and fracture; crystals and refractive stones transfigure light into corporeal presence, transforming the space into a shared sensory field. Each formal choice becomes a fragment of the cycle: the digital dissolves, ceramics breaks and recomposes, light reveals. In this polyphony of media lies the core of the collection: art as a place of constant oscillation between resistance and vulnerability.

What makes Dying Sun radical is not only its aesthetic but its vision. The collection originates from a personal experience, yet it does not end in autobiography: it becomes a collective mirror. The dying sun is not only the individual ego disintegrating; it is also the reflection of an epoch witnessing the collapse of its certainties. The fragility of personal ambition intertwines with the fragility of a world that, amidst ecological, political, and cultural crises, seems to be living its own announced ending. Kolahon invites us to look at this sunset not as catastrophe but as transition: the possibility that collapse may generate a new beginning, that disorder may give rise to a new constellation.

In this sense, Dying Sun belongs to a lineage of artists who have interrogated the relationship between trauma, silence, and creation. From Lucio Fontana’s cuts, which opened space toward infinity, to James Turrell’s luminous dissolutions, which transmute perception into spiritual experience, Kolahon reworks this tradition with a hybrid language that fuses digital and matter. His practice, nourished by the stratification of watercolor and the fragmentary gesture of ceramics, finds in the digital an amplification: the construction of environments that do not merely show, but envelop; that do not represent, but make one live.

The silence that permeates the collection is perhaps its most radical element. Not silence as absence, but as suspension of judgment, as openness to what has not yet been spoken. It is a fertile silence, reminiscent of John Cage’s, where every sound becomes part of the composition. In this suspended space, the viewer is no longer a passive recipient but a co-creator of the work: invited to lay down their own inner noise and transform it into shared presence.

Dying Sun is thus more than a collection: it is a threshold. It is the passage from a paradigm of strength to one of fragility, from the will to control to the acceptance of collapse. And it is precisely in this acceptance that the possibility of rebirth resides, not as a return to what was, but as an opening to what may be. Kolahon shows us that art can emerge from trauma, that creation can sprout from interruption, and that even what dies carries within it the seed of a beginning.

To look at the works in this collection is to confront one’s own vulnerability, to recognize that within each of us burns a dying sun, and that precisely in its dissolution we may glimpse the possibility of a new constellation. Dying Sun is not an epilogue, but an invitation: an invitation to be traversed by chaos, to dwell in silence, and to be rebor, fragile and luminous, in a cycle that never ends.