



A cerulean body, jointed like a marionette, spills into space with exuberant imbalance, as if the self has become a movable architecture rather than a fixed identity. Around it, hot pink and saffron limbs orbit like echoes or alternate selves, their buoyant color pressing against the meditative, wood-grain spirals that suggest time’s slow current and the mind’s repetitive drift. The checkered floor locks the scene to a theatrical “stage,” yet the central vertical pole reads as both axis and constraint—an insistence that freedom is always negotiated with structure. Eyes scattered across the torso turn the figure inward and outward at once, proposing a consciousness that multiplies, watches, and recomposes itself in motion.







