A tiger, rendered from behind with velvet stripes and measured weight, advances into a field of pale erasure as if stepping out of memory and into consequence. Around it, faint diagrams, handwritten fragments, and a small vignette of human-animal intimacy hover like annotations to a myth—suggesting that tenderness, control, and violence are never cleanly separated. The spacious, washed ground amplifies the animal’s gravity, while the scattering of marks reads as evidence: a quiet ledger of power where the predator becomes both subject and symbol, watched by the very narratives that attempt to contain it.