



Set against a velvety nocturne, a hybrid figure with a tiger’s face and an exposed, diagram-like torso stands as a totem of divided identity—instinct and intellect stitched into the same skin. Around him, playful yet precarious forms (a vaulting cat, a pink zigzag scaffold, hovering orbs) orbit like private symbols, turning the composition into a theater of memory where the everyday and the mythic share one gravity. The restrained, bruised palette of flesh tones and punctuating reds intensifies the sense of ritual, as if the body is both altar and archive, carrying cosmologies that refuse a single, stable meaning. Objects at the edges—shoes, tree, stones—anchor the dream in lived reality, suggesting that transformation is not escape but a method of surviving the world’s contradictions.







