Medium: Acrylic Ink on Linen Canvas
Dimensions: 40x30 inches
A single stem of foxglove rises like a memory that refuses to fade — magenta, blush, and white bells suspended in a cobalt blue halo. The circle behind it hums like a pulse, a sky, a portal — a moment sealed in time. The petals tremble with a psychedelic vibration, their colors almost singing past the edges of reality, as if emotion itself has altered the way the eye remembers.
This flower once stood quietly outside a teahouse, unnoticed by most, but not by me — not on the day I felt myself fall into the wrong kind of love, the kind that blooms fiercely and beautifully but cannot survive its own intensity. The foxglove became a witness, holding both the sweetness of possibility and the ache of what could never be.
Its beauty is intoxicating, almost dizzying, just as that love was — luminous, disorienting, and fleeting. The cobalt circle becomes both sanctuary and storm: a space where memory loops, where feeling deepens, where longing takes root.
In this piece, the foxglove is both a relic and a revelation — a reminder that even love that does not last can transform us, leaving behind color, sensation, and a quiet kind of grace.
Framed
Medium: Acrylic Ink on Linen Canvas
Dimensions: 40x30 inches
A single stem of foxglove rises like a memory that refuses to fade — magenta, blush, and white bells suspended in a cobalt blue halo. The circle behind it hums like a pulse, a sky, a portal — a moment sealed in time. The petals tremble with a psychedelic vibration, their colors almost singing past the edges of reality, as if emotion itself has altered the way the eye remembers.
This flower once stood quietly outside a teahouse, unnoticed by most, but not by me — not on the day I felt myself fall into the wrong kind of love, the kind that blooms fiercely and beautifully but cannot survive its own intensity. The foxglove became a witness, holding both the sweetness of possibility and the ache of what could never be.
Its beauty is intoxicating, almost dizzying, just as that love was — luminous, disorienting, and fleeting. The cobalt circle becomes both sanctuary and storm: a space where memory loops, where feeling deepens, where longing takes root.
In this piece, the foxglove is both a relic and a revelation — a reminder that even love that does not last can transform us, leaving behind color, sensation, and a quiet kind of grace.
Framed