



This work assembles a baroque still life out of ruptured fragments—petals, shells, and honeycombed textures—so that abundance feels simultaneously ceremonial and precarious, as if beauty has been salvaged from collapse. A bruised palette of golds, umbers, and deep violets catches intermittent highlights, turning the central mass into a kind of reliquary where light flickers rather than settles. The vertical striations in the background read like rain or scratched film, pressing time and erosion against the dense, opulent foreground and suggesting that decay is not the opposite of splendor but its inevitable partner.







