There are symbols that never truly die.

They disappear.
They transform.
They change faces.

But they never fully leave the collective unconscious.

For some time now, I’ve felt an archaic form resurfacing.
Something medieval.
Ceremonial.
Vertical.

At the center of this wave: the cross.

If you had told me two years ago that we would invite it into our collections, I wouldn’t have believed you.

I saw it through the lens of sacrifice.
Of dogma.
Of a fixed interpretation.

But symbols are not slogans.
They are deep structures.

Before Religion, There Was the Axis

Anthropologically, the cross is not primarily a religious emblem.

It is a cosmological map.

A simple schema:
a vertical axis linking heaven and earth 
a horizontal axis opening space, direction, and human relationship.

In many ancient cultures, this crossing represents the center of the world.

The axis mundi.

The point where planes meet.
Where the visible and the invisible cease to be separate.

This center is not merely geographic.

It is symbolic.

It is interior.

As if the human being also carries within
a vertical line: aspiration, transcendence, the search for meaning.
And a horizontal line: relationship, embodiment, matter.

The cross becomes a minimal representation
of our own psychic architecture.

Integrating the Opposites

Its very structure is a language.

A geometric language.
Essential.

It evokes the meeting of masculine and feminine.
Light and shadow.
Life and death.
Matter and spirit.

Not as forces in conflict.

But as necessary polarities.

In certain symbolic traditions, inner maturity does not mean eliminating the shadow, but integrating it.

Holding together what appears opposed.

The cross becomes almost alchemical.

A place of union.
A field of balance.
A fertile tension.

Why Now?

In a fragmented world, saturated with information and noise, perhaps we instinctively seek a center.

A pattern of alignment.

Something stable within movement.

Ancient symbols often resurface when structures begin to dissolve.

Not out of nostalgia.

But out of psychological necessity.

As if humanity, at certain moments of tension, returns to its primordial forms.

To its founding geometries.

Revisiting the Symbol

What disturbed me was not the cross itself.

It was the single interpretation that had been handed to me.

In revisiting it, I am not trying to erase its history.

I am trying to place it back into a wider continuity.

Before it was dogma, it was structure.

Before it was condemnation, it was center.

Before it was morality, it was cosmology.

Symbols breathe.

They do not belong to us.

We pass through them.

And sometimes, we help them live again.

An ancient symbol, yes.

But profoundly alive.