“She didn't fall. She rooted.”
Melancholy is not an ending — it is a becoming. The figure sits curled at the centre of a wild, swirling nest of leaves and grass, held by the earth rather than consumed by it. This is a painting about the moments when we go inward — when the world asks too much and we return to something older and quieter inside ourselves. The swirling green forms are not chaos. They are protection. Nature as sanctuary.
Taxes included.