On The Other Side Of The River Bank (Dragonfly Dreams)

A twilight city of stacked, angular dwellings rises like a fragile memory—its cool blues stitched together with wavering lines that feel part-architectural, part-dream. Opposite it, the cobalt figure holds a contemplative stillness, her patterned skin reading as a living map where personal history and place become inseparable, while dragonflies scatter overhead like fleeting thoughts or blessings. The muted, earthen sky and delicate spirals soften the geometry, suggesting that what is built—home, identity, belonging—remains suspended between solidity and reverie, between water’s depth and air’s passing light.