Three Hundred Sixty-Five by Helena Bebirian

Photographic Prints

Available to buy on…

Dimension: 18"X24" Gesso treated Mounted Canvas

Medium: Acrylics

As if August 19, 2011—-269 views

Pomegranates, the National Fruit of Armenia. No matter what the size of the pomegranate fruit, either a small or large piece, there are always 365 seeds. One seed for everday of the year. A form of survival.

As the viewer, you would have to figure out, are there 365 strokes of paint, 365 pomegranate seeds, 365 lines? Once again, a lovely poem added to this artwork.

The Pomegranate , by Eavan Boland

The only legend I have ever loved is

the story of a daughter lost in hell.
And found and rescued there.
Love and blackmail are the gist of it.
Ceres and Persephone the names.
And the best thing about the legend is
I can enter it anywhere.And have.
As a child in exile in
a city of fogs and strange consonants,
I read it first and at first I was
an exiled child in the crackling dusk of
the underworld, the stars blighted.Later
I walked out in a summer twilight
searching for my daughter at bed-time.
When she came running I was ready
to make any bargain to keep her.
I carried her back past whitebeams
and wasps and honey-scented buddleias.
But I was Ceres then and I knew
winter was in store for every leaf
on every tree on that road.
Was inescapable for each one we passed.
And for me.
It is winter
and the stars are hidden.
I climb the stairs and stand where I can see
my child asleep beside her teen magazines,
her can of Coke, her plate of uncut fruit.
The pomegranate!How did I forget it?
She could have come home and been safe
and ended the story and all
our heart-broken searching but she reached
out a hand and plucked a pomegranate.
She put out her hand and pulled down
the French sound for apple and
the noise of stone and the proof
that even in the place of death,
at the heart of legend, in the midst
of rocks full of unshed tears
ready to be diamonds by the time
the story was told, a child can be
hungry.I could warn her.There is still a chance.
The rain is cold.The road is flint-coloured.
The suburb has cars and cable television.
The veiled stars are above ground.
It is another world.But what else
can a mother give her daughter but such
beautiful rifts in time?
If I defer the grief I will diminish the gift.
The legend will be hers as well as mine.
She will enter it.As I have.
She will wake up.She will hold
the papery flushed skin in her hand.
And to her lips.I will say nothing.


aorb, dish, fruit, pitcher, pomegranates, seeds, table, tablecloth, unique

I so love to create! Especially with lots of color! Every piece I do has a story to tell. A very colorful story to share with all of you. Thank you for stopping by, and please enjoy these colorful stories!

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  • Anna Shaw
    Anna Shawover 4 years ago

    Helena – this is gorgeous. I can almost taste those juicy fruits. What a great poem too!

  • Anna, I always appreciate seeing your comments. Multiple thank you’s! ~H

    – Helena Bebirian

  • artisandelimage
    artisandelimageover 4 years ago

  • Many thank you’s! ~H

    – Helena Bebirian

  • louma Rabah
    louma Rabahover 4 years ago

    a great painting and a great story…

  • Lourna, multiple thank you’s for your lovely comments! ~H

    – Helena Bebirian

  • Lyndy
    Lyndyover 4 years ago

    Whoa soooo cool!

  • Thank you for such an honorable mention! I am once more deeply flattered. ~H

    – Helena Bebirian

  • margaretfraser
    margaretfraserover 4 years ago

    lovely colors

  • Many thank you’s! I so love color! ~H

    – Helena Bebirian

  • JaniceMachado
    JaniceMachadoalmost 4 years ago

  • Thank you so very much! ~HB

    – Helena Bebirian

  • LoneAngel
    LoneAngelabout 3 years ago

    beautiful work

  • Many thank you’s ! ~HB

    – Helena Bebirian

  • Ushna Sardar
    Ushna Sardarabout 3 years ago

  • Thank you so very much for the honorable feature! I am deeply flattered. ~HB

    – Helena Bebirian

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