About this artwork

I love creating a fluid art effect using coloured pencils as it gives much greater control.

A bare stands slightly left of centre, its trunk a braided ribbon of deep indigo that spirals downward and outward. From that dark core, the bark seems to liquefy—veins of cobalt, teal and midnight blue peel away and tumble into a surging torrent of colour. Those ribbons undulate like a captured current, each stripe edged and layered so the whole becomes a topographical river: waves within waves, contours folding over one another as if time itself had been drawn into bands.

The right half of the composition dissolves into this flowing anatomy. Sinuous lines — aquamarine, violet, magenta and flashes of cerulean — weave and overlap, producing an almost musical rhythm. They swell and contract like breaths, sometimes thin and filamentous, sometimes thick and rolling; the movement reads like a visible wind, carrying memories or notes that unspool from the tree’s limbs. Where the branches reach, they fragment into the same curving filaments, so that the boundary between organic wood and liquid colour is indistinct: growth becomes current, and structure becomes song.

The background washes in warm apricot and pale peach set the cool stream of pigment in relief, lending the whole a dusk-like hush. Negative spaces open and close within the maze of lines, suggesting distant canyons or the hollows of a listening ear. At moments, the interlacing curves hint at phantom forms—faces, gull wings, or the arc of a coastline—never settling long enough to be nailed down, keeping the image perpetually on the verge of recognition.

Overall the scene feels like a metamorphosis captured mid-breath: a single arboreal spine giving rise to an exhalation of colour that moves like water, wind, and music at once. It is both tranquil and restless, intimate and expansive—a visual poem about transformation, the thin seam where rootedness unravels into motion.