



A paper-skinned creature—stitched from headlines and currencies of attention—rears into a storm of white fissures, as if thought itself has cracked the air around it. The ravens, rendered with velvety darkness and sharp wing geometry, circle like emissaries of consequence, turning the scene into a tribunal where language becomes both armor and trap. Warm, bruised earth-tones swell behind the figures, while the diagonal thrust of the beast’s body and the birds’ converging flight paths compress space into a single urgent moment: the struggle to rise under the weight of what we read, repeat, and believe.







