God Never Lies

A serene, androgynous figure floats in a cool, nocturnal field, crowned by a pale orb that reads like a private moon—an inner world made visible. Outstretched wings frame the body as both shelter and instrument, while the piano’s strict horizontal keys cut across the composition, turning emotion into measured intervals and suggesting the discipline required to hold silence. From a green, book-like panel, origami moths unfurl and spill into the air and down into a reflective surface, as if memory, music, and breath are being folded into fragile forms and released. The work lingers between devotion and dream: a quiet allegory of creation where the psyche conducts its own flight, and every note becomes a small paper resurrection.