The horizon sat quiet and low, stretching endlessly beneath a sky swirling with restless color. Pale blues mingled with warm pinks, streaked with golden light—the kind of sky that never stands still.
Some say skies like these are thinking. That when the clouds twist and turn, they’re carrying whispers from distant places—echoes of conversations, forgotten dreams, the hush of wind moving through time.
Beneath this vast sky, the land waits. Hints of green and red flicker in the distance, as if the earth is reflecting back at the heavens, mirroring the movement above.
It is a moment suspended between day and night, between certainty and possibility. Something is coming, though no one knows what.
But the horizon—low and steady—remains unshaken, holding its breath for whatever happens next.
60” x 24”, oil on canvas
The horizon sat quiet and low, stretching endlessly beneath a sky swirling with restless color. Pale blues mingled with warm pinks, streaked with golden light—the kind of sky that never stands still.
Some say skies like these are thinking. That when the clouds twist and turn, they’re carrying whispers from distant places—echoes of conversations, forgotten dreams, the hush of wind moving through time.
Beneath this vast sky, the land waits. Hints of green and red flicker in the distance, as if the earth is reflecting back at the heavens, mirroring the movement above.
It is a moment suspended between day and night, between certainty and possibility. Something is coming, though no one knows what.
But the horizon—low and steady—remains unshaken, holding its breath for whatever happens next.
60” x 24”, oil on canvas
