A canopy of flowering trees rises like a chorus of remembered springs, its dark, calligraphic branches stitching structure into a sky of incandescent pinks and embered reds. The paint is laid in fractured, mosaic-like planes, so light seems to break and reassemble across the surface—less an illustration of foliage than a meditation on renewal as something layered, imperfect, and continually becoming. Beneath the blossom-saturated air, the softened greens ground the composition, offering a quiet counterweight that turns exuberance into balance, and bloom into breath.