No Flesh Will Disclose Our Eyelid.

This work interrogates the paradox of metamorphosis within inertia—the entanglement of opposing forces, the breath of becoming held within the stillness of form. It is an ontological meditation, unfolding in the liminal space where dream and form converge, where presence is both diffuse and concentrated. Here, opposites do not cancel but coexist: stasis that pulses with silent motion, duality that blurs into singularity.

At its core are two entities, suspended in an endless oneiric loop, neither fully awake nor truly at rest. They are mirror-images and contradictions—each a shadow of the other, fused into a single body, yet maintaining a subtle resistance. Their limbs are intertwined, their boundaries indistinct, as if sculpted from the same primordial clay but infused with opposing essences. They do not move, yet their form shifts imperceptibly—like liquid captured in a moment of stillness, yet ever ready to ripple. The rhythm fluctuates, moving from calm to restless, as if their very essence transforms in response to the pulse.

Their eyes are sealed by the weight of eternity, an echo of blindness that is not absence of sight but the surrender of perception. Still, they breathe, not through lungs, but through the soil, through the sap that courses in silence beneath bark and bone. This breath is cyclical, tidal—a rhythm buried deep beyond the confines of the skull, felt only in the ghost of motion beneath the skin.

From their fused body, a tree emerges—not planted, but born. It pierces through and grows out of them. This tree is not their creation but their extension: it grows of its own volition, disrupting the static harmony of their sleep, yet never breaking their unity. Its roots delve into unseen layers of memory, drawing nourishment from forgotten dreams.

Their condition is liminal—a state between becoming and being, between matter and metaphor. They are held in a threshold state, like a dream caught between the cusp of waking and the undertow of sleep. This is not death, nor life, but a third space—a metaphysical suspension where time loops and folds, where the linear becomes cyclical, where identity is unfixed.

This work is a meditation on the dialectic of transformation and stillness, the tension between movement and rest. It interrogates the persistence of dream as both anchor and current, and the interpenetration of forms—how one state flows into another without boundary. It is not a resolution, but a ritual: an endless, rhythmic undulation of form, breath, and silence.