Untitled 51

Set against a field of molten crimson, the tree rises as a solitary witness—its trunk etched with rhythmic, topographic lines that read like time made visible. The canopy explodes into a constellation of gold and ember tones, each fleck of leaf-light hovering between abundance and dissolution, as if the air itself were thick with memory. A thin, luminous seam along the ground steadies the composition, suggesting a fragile horizon where endurance and celebration meet, and where life insists on radiance even in a charged, unsettled atmosphere.