Kiss (Green Leaves and Figures)

This enigmatic collage of vignettes drifts between fable and memory, where a crow’s poised beak, a woman’s guarded torso, and the quiet geometry of a cottage form a single, unsettled breath. The restrained monochrome field is ruptured by small eruptions of green—leaf, blossom, window—like pulses of tenderness insisting on life amid shadowed, ambiguous terrain. Scale collapses and perspectives slide, so animals, landscape, and domestic space interpenetrate, suggesting that instinct and intimacy are never separate from the places that shelter them. The work reads as a muted “kiss” not of romance but of recognition: a fleeting communion between wildness and care, held together by delicate lines and deliberate silences.