Tiger (The Fallen King)

Split by a stark vertical seam, the composition stages a quiet confrontation between instinct and empire: the tiger’s luminous gaze emerges from a wash of ochres and smoke, its presence both tender and unyielding. Opposite, a suspended crown hovers amid bruised violets and embered greens, dissolving into drips that read like time, decay, or guilt—authority literally bleeding into atmosphere. The falling pigment behaves as gravity-bound memory, binding the two halves into a single psychological terrain where sovereignty feels provisional and the wild becomes the truer inheritance. In this tension, the work suggests that power is a costume, while the animal—watchful, breathing—remains the enduring measure of reality.