

This work stages a fragile dialogue between the graphic certainty of the dragonfly and a tectonic, weathered ground that seems to hold the memory of water, erosion, and time. Turquoise fissures branch like river deltas across ochres and sanded creams, while the ribbed striations at the periphery read as wind-marks or topographic contours, turning the surface into a map of both landscape and psyche. Against this elemental field, the insect’s stained-glass wing—cool blues edged by a pulse of red—becomes a quiet emblem of resilience: a fleeting body poised over vast, ancient matter, insisting on presence within impermanence. The composition’s asymmetry and layered textures invite a contemplative drift, as if the viewer is hovering too, suspended between observation and reverie.







