Memoirs From The Studio
Witness
Acrylic ink on paper
A flower blooms on a bare branch. At its center, an eye opens—watching, feeling, witnessing.
Lightning cuts across the sky like a revelation, not as destruction, but as clarity.
This piece holds the tension of transformation—the moment before everything changes. A visual meditation on perception, fragility, and the sudden arrival of truth.
Witness
Acrylic ink on paper
A flower blooms on a bare branch. At its center, an eye opens—watching, feeling, witnessing.
Lightning cuts across the sky like a revelation, not as destruction, but as clarity.
This piece holds the tension of transformation—the moment before everything changes. A visual meditation on perception, fragility, and the sudden arrival of truth.
Witness
Acrylic ink on paper
A flower blooms on a bare branch. At its center, an eye opens—watching, feeling, witnessing.
Lightning cuts across the sky like a revelation, not as destruction, but as clarity.
This piece holds the tension of transformation—the moment before everything changes. A visual meditation on perception, fragility, and the sudden arrival of truth.
In every bloom and every brushstroke, the soul came home to itself.
In every bloom and every brushstroke, the soul came home to itself.
In every bloom and every brushstroke, the soul came home to itself.