This sculpture exists across three quiet realities: the hand as it is, the reflection it becomes, and a hidden point where another vision reveals itself —fleeting, delicate, almost imagined.
Each layer tells a different story. The sculpture shows form. The reflection offers intention. And from a single, secret perspective, beauty escapes in the form of hidden flight —fragile and momentary, like truth glimpsed in a world of noise.

The deep blue palette gives the piece a sense of stillness—like dusk, or a held breath. It’s a work about subtlety. About what’s there, and what’s only visible if you take the time to really look.

Here is the riddle of Metamorphosis
At first, I am strange
A form that resists your gaze,
A cipher stretched
Across angles and planes.

Some seek me in silvered truth,
Where curves confess themselves;
A mirror remembers a hand,
Clear as intention.

But that is only two answers of three.
Lower yourself.
Let your camera become a single, faithful eye.
Ignore the shine that claims authority.

Follow the thumb not as symbol,
But as alignment.
Stand where color abandons chaos,
Where fragments agree,
And noise learns to behave.

There, three seekers resolve from fracture

Winged, weightless,

Always in pursuit of what is real.

I am not revealed by looking harder,

Only by standing correctly.

What appears

When you align yourself?