

This dreamlike tableau turns the forest into a living mechanism: village rooftops orbit a luminous clock-face, while vine-like rings bind time to growth as if chronology were something cultivated rather than measured. The palette of midnight blues and embered ochres sets a nocturnal tension, where industrial gears hover like constellations above bamboo and grasses, suggesting progress as an intrusive yet strangely beautiful mythology. At the edge, the owl’s unwavering gaze becomes the work’s moral center—an emblem of quiet witness—holding together the churn of human order and the patient, older intelligence of the natural world.







