Untitled 1

Set against a salmon-pink void, an ornate, timeworn fauteuil and its companion table sit like relics of domestic certainty, their gilded flourishes rendered suddenly fragile by the surrounding field of fractured, drifting planes. Hovering above, the beetle—part insect, part machine—reads as an emissary of surveillance and transformation, its probing stance turning the furniture into a specimen and the room into a stage for quiet undoing. The tension between meticulous baroque detail and the airy, dissolving geometry suggests memory in the act of breaking apart: heritage preserved in surface, yet destabilized by a new, alien order. Light feels less like illumination than exposure, flattening space so that comfort becomes uncanny and the familiar is gently but irrevocably estranged.