My red balcony

In the large 100 x 100 cm format, the work welds architectural rigor with lyrical dreaming: color blocks — red, yellow, green — rise like phrases in a suspended urban score against an unmoving turquoise sky. The brushwork, at once exacting and tender, marries oil and acrylic into velvety and knife-edged planes, where shadows lengthen like memory-steps never taken.

From a curatorial viewpoint, the painting reads the city as a fragile construct: balconies, joints and railings become glyphs of a shared narrative, fragments of dwellings that hint at untold lives. In the dream register, the image unfolds into a small theater of vanishings — windows that watch without eyes, corridors opening onto impossible light — inviting the viewer into a slow, wandering reverie.

The palette acts as a visual score: the red marks the pulse, turquoise suspends the space, yellow throws open thresholds of hope. Hung and observed closely, the canvas demands contemplation: the longer you linger, the more an emotional architecture reveals itself, assembled at the intersection of structural logic and nocturnal imagination.