Untitled 22

A slanting veil of rain stitches the entire surface into motion, turning sky and ground into a single, restless field where certainty dissolves. On the left, a regiment of pale trunks rises like memory’s architecture—repeated, anonymous, and wind-bent—while to the right a small cluster of houses huddles in bruised blues, their warm windows flickering as the only human pulse. The composition sets fragility against persistence: home as a brief, illuminated claim within an indifferent weather, and the forest as both witness and boundary to what can be endured.