Touch Me Not

A radiant, matchstick-like bloom detonates from a molten yellow core, its magenta filaments fanning outward with the precision of a burst and the tenderness of a flower, turning expansion into a kind of quiet prayer. Set against a scratched, silvery ground, the work stages a dialogue between endurance and ephemerality—the weathered surface reading like time itself, while the luminous center insists on renewed feeling. Faint dragonfly silhouettes hover at the periphery as spectral witnesses, suggesting metamorphosis and the fragile ecology of attention around a single, astonishing moment of becoming.