Judgement (A Parliament of Parrots)

A solemn, stone-faced figure—half monument, half magistrate—sits immovable against a fevered red ground, its powdered curls rendered with the weight of inherited authority and the chill of judgment. Around this immobile center, green parrots erupt in a loose orbit of wings and perches, their luminous bodies cutting through the space like living punctuation, as if nature were reclaiming the tribunal with sound, color, and unruly breath. The stark chromatic clash—verdant flight against saturated crimson—turns the scene into an allegory of dissent: language and mimicry circling power, repeating it, mocking it, and finally overwhelming its silence. What reads at first as an eccentric tableau becomes a meditation on who gets to speak, and how quickly the rigid symbols of governance can be softened, inhabited, and undone.