About this artwork

A single gnarled tree stands at the painting’s centre, its trunk a braided ribbon of copper and gold that seems both metallic and living. The bark shimmers with mosaic-like inlays — tiny tiles of russet and bronze that catch an imagined light — and from that trunk a lattice of veins unfurls upward and outward. The branches are delicate filigree, filaments of amber and ochre that split and recombine like lightning frozen in honey; they are leafless almost by design, more like an exposed nervous system than a botanist’s tree, each twig ending in a whisper-thin filament.

Beneath, the roots coil into a globe patterned with concentric designs, as if the tree’s anchor is a stitched, jewelled heart. That orb pulses against a backdrop of liquid blues and greens: swirls of teal, aquamarine, and deep navy that curl and eddy like an ocean seen through blown glass. These currents carry embedded shapes — rippling ovals, spiralling shells, and pale, pearlescent crescents — which read like underwater fossils or symbols rotating slowly within the paint.

The whole composition has a suspended, dreamlike geometry: organic forms intersect with abstract motifs so that the tree appears to both grow from and conduct the surrounding water. There are moments where the background takes on an ocular quality — round, iris-like forms with central dots — suggesting a landscape that watches or listens. The palette keeps returning to cool blues softened by warm copper veins, creating a tension between serenity and electric presence.

Overall the image reads like a myth made visible: a subterranean conductor of currents, a memory of growth caught in a tidal ether. It’s a map of connectivity where roots become circuitry and water becomes memory, all rendered in flowing, hypnotic strokes that invite silent contemplation.