Sin TítuloInquire about availability

A bird of cobalt blue plumage sweeps across the atmosphere with the wingspan of a meteor, abruptly upending the hierarchies of earthly scale. Around it, humanity appears dwarfed, fragile, and devoid of shelter. On the right, watching over the frame like a colossal guardian or an arcane deity, rises another avian figure in moss and emerald tones, within whose body clockwork gears and dials emerge in ink, as if mechanical time inhabited the interior of a biological totem.

Between both winged titans, human bodies are reduced to naked silhouettes, rendered with sinuous lines and brief pink glazes. At the base, a small group kneels with outstretched arms in a gesture of supplication or devotion before the blue flight; to the left, a solitary female figure with a rounded belly rests on a mound, expectant beneath a pale, milky moon. This vulnerability is heightened along the right vertical axis, where several individuals remain pigeonholed in stacked niches, almost like relics or captives of an architectural structure dividing wakefulness from confinement. A faint horizontal red line traverses the middle ground, subtly linking the cells to the flight, like a topographic guide or a thread of destiny stretched across the fog.

Mixed media on paper allows the surface to breathe through earthy textures and smoky passages of charcoal and chalk. The pigments do not completely cover the substrate; they expose the paper's porosity and produce a damp, ashen light typical of a lucid dream. In this suspended space, where the heaviness of gears and the weightlessness of flight coexist, the myth unfolds without a closed narrative, leaving the viewer to choose between the promise of rescue or the cold contemplation of the colossus that measures the hours.