The title is a quote (albeit modified) from the famous work Gauguin painted in 1897, considered his spiritual testament, and fundamentally refers to humanity's three great existential questions.

These questions explore the nature of being, the meaning of life, and our destiny. Philosophy seeks to define who we are as individuals and as part of a group, analyzing concepts such as consciousness, freedom, and ethics. Reflections that begin with questions about our origins inevitably lead to speculations on the meaning of death and the transcendent. It is a fixed point that defines us, weighing and simultaneously liberating.

The choice to close with the question "Who are we?" is central, but the order of the scenes is not necessarily logical—quite the opposite. The work does not require reading from left to right but rather allows the viewer to freely choose where to linger, as if it were a circular ribbon unrolled. The "Who we are" can be found in each of the three scenes, because they all define different thoughts about origins. The "Where are we going" can be discerned in the central dynamism that sees an environmentalist reflection on protection, but it can also be found in the right section, which painfully dwells on loss and dreams. From death, we return to our roots and the memory of loved ones, to the good of others, and so on.

The final meaning is that what matters is not the answer, but the question, the depth of the search itself.

The scene takes place in a sort of Eden, a locus amoenus where humans and animals coexist peacefully immersed in nature, while the Matterhorn in the background creates a surreal, lunar backdrop. The times we live in are dramatic, unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, and raise questions. For this reason, I wanted to create a suspended environment inhabited by enigmatic characters, metaphors of existence and the stages of life.

The elderly woman represents roots and deliberately carries a tree in her bag (along with the memory of those who have passed away but are ever present). She is still, reflecting, her gaze fixed on the past. A thoughtful child leans on a large book whose cover features an engraving of Pythagoras and Philolaus (a tribute to culture and, above all, education, which is closely linked to the quest for "Where We Come From"). He doesn't notice that a curious squirrel is standing before him. In the center, a worried little girl inhabits a boat without oars, hugging a goose and hiding a lamb. Her windswept hair hosts live butterflies, and in the boat are piled books, a strange visor, a pomegranate (a symbol of luck and harmony), and some half-withered flowers. The sea becomes both earth and sky at the same time; it has no boundaries. The lantern hanging from the boat illuminates a newborn baby sleeping safely tucked into the hollow of a large branch. He is watched over by a kingfisher. On the right, the branch grows enormous and hosts a woman holding magnolia flowers, a dahlia, and a human heart. She is unaware that a lynx is crouching at her feet, staring at the viewer. It is a mysterious wild animal, considered prophetic by many cultures, and it is the only one, along with the child, watching us. A warning?