Untitled 7 (Butterfly Symphony)

Against a field of velvety black, a dalmatian-like body is interrupted by a flared, horned mouth, turning the animal into an instrument that exhales color rather than sound. The butterflies—small, luminous notes—scatter outward in a loose constellation, their iridescence amplified by the stark negative space and the sudden, molten orange of the bell. Below, the striped ribbon snakes like a caution line or theatrical boundary, suggesting that this act of release is both playful and precarious: imagination performing at the edge of control. The work reads as an allegory of expression—how the self, hybrid and strange, converts inner pressure into fragile, transient beauty.