Every Painting has a Story
That tiny, audacious bird — hurling itself across a world that’s been shattered and reassembled into something that shouldn’t hold together but absolutely does.
The bird is so small. The landscape is so much. And yet the bird wins.
Your eye goes straight to it — across a river that arcs like a parenthesis around something unspeakable, over fields of jade and gold seen from somewhere above the clouds. A sun, or maybe a moon, refusing to commit in the corner. The whole surface pressing forward, every tile of paint alive.
And in the middle of all that ancient, shattered beauty — one small creature, completely certain of where it’s going.
