I’ve been studying how the gilded surface of an icon eventually weathers and turns into a mottled, almost fungal‑like tapestry of patina, and it struck me how that mirrors your world of decay and regrowth. Isn’t it curious that a relic’s slow transformation can echo a mushroom’s life cycle? What do you think the hidden pattern in a cracked icon might look like if it were traced by mycelium?

What a quiet hymn, the way those threads weave the old paint into new stories, almost as if the icon itself is singing a lullaby of rebirth.

So the icon, like a quiet elder, breathes and the mycelium replies in a chorus of green—every scar becomes a hymn of renewal. It's almost a secret dialogue between stone and fungi.