Danny Schreiber

This piece centers on an authority figure, composed and silent, who listens to a bird singing a message not her own. The bird serves as a stand-in for the unseen child, whose voice carries the first notes of reclamation. The figure emerges from a tree trunk that speaks to natural cycles, what is severed, what grows back, and what must be remembered to begin again. Painted with layered oils and grounded in classical technique, the composition holds a stillness that asks the viewer to linger. It is a turning point in the Oracles series, a painting that explores the space between control and surrender, between the roles we are given and the inner voices that challenge them. This work invites reflection on legacy, resilience, and the moment just before something long buried is heard again.

This painting is about the weight and warmth of what we carry forward. A lit candle, heavy with wax, hovers above the figure’s head: a symbol of memory, of guidance, and the quiet persistence of light passed down, even when we don’t know exactly where it came from. This piece is a portrait of inherited strength. The kind that isn’t loud or flashy, but steady. Something felt more than explained. Rendered in oil with warm, natural tones and subtle textures, the painting blends realism and symbolism in a way that invites reflection. Like many works in the Oracles series, it leaves space for the viewer’s narrative to emerge.

A meditation on resilience and return, this piece draws the viewer into a quiet moment charged with emotional depth. The figure, emerging from the gnarled trunk of a tree, embodies ancestral strength and the persistence of inner truth. Though incomplete, her form holds a subtle embrace, part protection, part memory, offering a sense of intimacy without narrative certainty. Set against a black backdrop, the composition isolates the subject to invite personal reflection. The absence of a face isn’t a loss but an opening, an invitation to consider what remains when expectations fall away. What identities still pulse beneath the surface? Rendered in oil, the surface shifts between soft blends and raw texture. Traditional techniques provide structure, but key breaks in realism allow space for symbolism to speak. This is a piece about transformation, about what’s been quieted, what endures, and what still longs to rise again.

This is a painting about survival. Not the triumphant kind, but the quiet endurance that etches itself into flesh. The torso turns away from the viewer, presenting a back softened by time and strained with the weight of what cannot be said. The rooted base evokes the continuity of pain and resilience, how the body remembers even what the mind tries to bury. There’s no head or limbs, only a body standing in for all that was carried in silence. The palette is subdued, raw, with warm wood tones bleeding into flesh as if grief itself has grown roots. Background textures echo fire-scorched bark surrounding the figure in a haunted quiet. The painting does not ask for pity; it stands as a reliquary, a sacred container for what was once severed, forgotten, or reshaped by necessity. This work poses the question: What happens when something broken continues to grow? It is less about returning to wholeness and more about the new forms we take when we allow memory, even pain, to transmute us. It’s not just about ache, it’s about what ache becomes.

This piece speaks to longing, not for possession, but for recognition. A single hand reaches upward, not to grasp, but to acknowledge something just beyond understanding. The gold moon hovers above a dark field, luminous and untouchable. It's a quiet composition, but one full of weight. Divinity reflects the part of us that hungers for meaning, for something larger than ourselves to witness, name, or feel connected to. The anatomical detail grounds the gesture in flesh, while the moon holds space for the unseen: intuition, cycles, the unknowable. It’s not about belief systems. It’s about the simple, human act of reaching, of recognizing that transformation doesn’t always require answers. This work is part of my Oracles series, which explores identity, emotional inheritance, and symbolic gesture. For collectors who are drawn to art that invites pause and personal reflection, this is a piece meant to hold space and grow with you.

The simplicity of the composition is deliberate: a gesture of hope or superstition paired with a symbol that spans mythology, fertility, and transformation. The pomegranate, sacred to Persephone, evokes themes of choice, consequence, and cycles that repeat across generations. This piece continues my exploration into inherited narratives, emotional conditioning, and the tension between what we were told to believe and what we instinctively know. The hand, rendered with anatomical specificity, is not passive—it engages, reaching into the space of ritual or longing. Is it protection? Plea? Faith? Part of my ongoing Oracles series, Duality is both personal and archetypal. It reflects on how often our lives are shaped not just by action, but by internalized symbols—gestures we were taught to perform without always understanding why. The fruit suggests a kind of contract, spiritual or ancestral, while the crossed fingers suspend that moment of decision in time. Ultimately, this work aims to hold complexity. To ask: what do we cling to for luck, and what do we ingest that alters us forever?

This piece is about the fragile power of emotional honesty. There’s tension in the space between the elements, both physically and symbolically. The heart hovers like an offering, or maybe a burden. Its edges are raw, its warmth still burning. Smoke trails upward, suggesting something recently severed, or something still alive despite the odds. In Humanity, I wanted to explore the vulnerability that comes with holding space for love and loss at the same time. The piece isn’t about a singular event—it’s about a condition. A state of being. What does it mean to be human when we carry both wound and wonder in the same breath? As with the rest of my Oracles series, this painting is rooted in symbolic gesture. The hand isn’t grasping—it’s steadying, maybe inviting. There’s no control here, just presence. The anatomical precision of the figure contrasts with the glowing organic mess of the heart, a nod to the paradoxes we carry: logic and emotion, choice and consequence, the personal and the collective. This piece is an altar to our contradictions. To the ache that teaches. To the heart that still smokes from past fires, and still pulses forward.

Stillness can be its own kind of strength. I painted this as a meditation on trust and inner quiet. The hand is steady, open, and offered without demand. The bird accepts, neither captive nor fleeing. It’s a portrait of a moment suspended, a fragile balance between worlds—what’s wild and what’s human, what’s fleeting and what’s eternal. This piece, like others in the Oracles series, draws from gesture and symbolism to explore deeper themes of identity, surrender, and spiritual persistence. Birds have long been used as messengers, both in myth and memory. In this case, the crested tit becomes a stand-in for intuition—the soft voice that arrives only when the world goes quiet enough to hear it. The black background removes context but amplifies essence. It’s a void that frames presence. A silence that holds the voice. The infinity here isn’t about vast time or grand cosmos—it’s about the unspoken, continuous thread of self that endures no matter how the external world shifts. Infinity invites the viewer to consider what it means to be in relationship with the unseen. To listen. To be still. To know that the most profound truths don’t arrive loudly—but land gently, like a bird.

Part of my ongoing Oracles series, this painting investigates how systems of power, familial, institutional, and spiritual, shape our sense of self and the difficult choices we make to belong. The figure is a partial torso, its head and limbs absent, yet it leans forward with quiet urgency. It is not a gesture of collapse, but one of yearning, caught mid-reach toward something forbidden or lost. The body emerges from a gnarled tree trunk, merging human form with rooted memory. In this symbolic terrain, trees stand for endurance and transformation; even after being cut or reshaped, they carry history in every ring. Likewise, the figure bears the echo of a former wholeness. Its posture holds grief, reverence, and desire all at once, leaving the viewer to ask, what was surrendered, what is still possible? Rendered in oil with layered light, soft edges, and subtle shifts in temperature, the painting invites close, contemplative viewing. Though grounded in classical anatomy, the distortion of form creates space for ambiguity and projection. This piece does not tell a linear story; it opens a portal, a site of inquiry, a quiet relic of resilience, sacrifice, and the haunting beauty of what remains.

This portrait holds the feeling of liminality, of being caught between worlds, or versions of the self. The red starfish suspended above her head speaks to regeneration, memory, and the pull of the tides that shape us, whether we realize it or not. Like many pieces in this series, the composition blends classical portraiture with symbolic objects meant to open, not explain. The figure’s gaze is turned inward, quiet but alert. There’s a tension here between stillness and change, between what’s anchored and what’s adrift. Rendered in oil on wood, the surface has a warmth and richness that invites close looking. Every element was chosen to suggest something deeper beneath the surface: transformation, survival, and the deep intelligence of emotional memory. An intimate, contemplative work for collectors drawn to symbolism, nuance, and narrative undercurrents.