“Once again the warning: take good care of Mother Earth.”

I remember starting this painting in 2016 without any particular subject in mind. I painted some spiritual colors in the sky, a mountain with a jungle, a red path winding upward, a small stream beside it, and two overhanging branches with leaves. After a while, I felt dissatisfied—the painting seemed weak, even lacking dimension. A little frustrated, I extended the branches on the left so that the one on the right would hang in front of the mountain in the distance, hoping to create some depth. I also lengthened the branch in the upper right corner. While this added dimension, the branches now drooped sadly downward.

Finally, I tried extending the red path toward the horizon, as I had done in earlier works, but it made no sense here with the dense jungle. That red patch felt like a disturbing, failed element in the painting. And yet, inexplicably, the work still held something compelling. Perhaps too tired at the time to find a suitable title, I decided to post it on Facebook, inviting my roughly 5,000 friends to suggest what they thought I had painted and to propose fitting titles. After two weeks, I would revisit the painting and choose the most appropriate suggestion.

I received many thoughtful and creative responses. When I finally looked again myself, I quickly realized what I had truly painted: the process of deforestation. The red patch became a bleeding wound in the jungle. The blue river beside it appeared more like a muddy stream. On the mountainside stood short stumps of recently cut trees, and to the left, a bare, stripped mountain. The deeply bent branches seemed to mourn the destruction.

It was then clear to me. Among all the suggestions, one title fit perfectly: “Green Tears.” It was offered by a dear friend from The Hague, Rob de Wit—sadly, no longer with us.

The question remains: should I see the creation of this painting as a conscious message sent from the E-cloud?