There is a quiet hour when the day lets go and something older steps forward. That is where this painting lives.

A ram skull held between sweeping horns. Two dark birds on the left curve, one already in flight. A single butterfly resting on the brow. The horns read like a horizon that refuses to end. The skull is not an ending so much as a threshold. The birds carry the soul’s passage. The butterfly is the small, unmistakable sign that what has fallen is already changing form. Below them, the sun sits low in an orange and violet sky, the color of the moment between worlds.