Cupid

A swarm of bespectacled cherubs drifts across a charcoal sky, their wings and soft bodies rendered with obsessive stippling that turns innocence into something quietly uncanny. The composition reads like a cloud-reef crowded with hesitant gestures—lounging, hovering, hiding—where each figure seems caught between play and scrutiny, as if childhood itself were being archived under glass. Paper airplanes and dotted flight paths puncture the atmosphere with a schematic logic, suggesting that even wonder is mapped, rehearsed, and monitored. In this tension between tenderness and surveillance, the work becomes an allegory of modern imagination: buoyant, teeming, and subtly constrained.