Its My Choice (Contemplation on the Cliff)

Suspended between a night-saturated blue and a band of incandescent yellow, the reclining figure becomes a quiet axis where wakefulness, dream, and vulnerability converge. The horn-like instrument lifted to the lips reads as both breath and proclamation, as if sound could stitch the fractured, dripping architecture beneath into a single remembered place. Light pools around the body in a cool halo, while the cascading pigments and broken planes suggest a psyche dissolving at the edges—an intimate reverie set against the slow erosion of certainty. In this tension between weightless repose and downward pull, the work stages a meditation on how imagination keeps us afloat even as the world below quietly unravels.