A swollen, weathered sack—its coppery skin bruised with green corrosion—sits like a monument to accumulation, the cinched mouth suggesting secrecy as much as containment. Around its base, small dark rats circle in low relief, their matte bodies absorbing light and turning movement into an uneasy orbit of desire and dependence. The stark contrast between the sack’s luminous patina and the rats’ shadowed presence stages a quiet allegory of surplus: what is stored and protected inevitably summons what gnaws, tests, and survives. In its compressed tableau, the work renders greed not as spectacle but as a slow ecology, where value ripens into vulnerability.