The horses' hooves thud on the frost-covered hills in the cold early morning. Breath fogs the cold air like spirits rising, and the knight rides alone — a silent figure cloaked in black wool, armor dulled by time and memory. His path is one of exile and longing, his sword long buried, replaced by brush and ink, by the quiet labor of hands that once wielded fire.

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As dawn breaks, a vision stirs beyond the ridge — the vast beach, windswept and clouded by mist. Upon its sand, shadows appear : ruins of ancient castles, winged beasts, faceless saints, and sacred temples. The tide does not crash — it whispers, carrying fragments of forgotten worlds, stories untold, and dreams not yet dreamt.

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The knight dismounts.

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He watches.

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And from that distance, you see it too — the art. Not as mere image, but as relic, as relic-song, as the memory of something holy lost to time.

 

These works are visions drawn from the thin place between worlds, remnants of a mythic age that never was, but always should have been.

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This portfolio is not a gallery.

It is a record of the quest.

And the quest is far from over.