

A sculptural, faceless figure stands in quiet profile, its cracked, stone-like skin echoing the stag’s pale flank as if human and animal were hewn from the same remembered material. The field of mossy greens and sun-struck ochres breathes like weathered fresco, while the honeycomb texture suggests a fragile architecture of belonging—cells of instinct, memory, and shelter. At the right, the sweeping wing interrupts the stillness with a soft force, turning the composition into a threshold scene where wilderness, vigilance, and the possibility of flight negotiate their uneasy truce. The work reads as a meditation on guardianship: a tender proximity to the wild that is also a recognition of what in us remains wordless and untamed.







