Mixed media on canvas.

Height: 60 cm
Length: 50 cm

This work does not try to hide the crisis: it exposes it. The central face appears fragmented, saturated, almost overflowing with color and brushwork. There is no stable anatomy; there are layers, visible corrections, and impulsive gestures. This says a lot: growing up is not about getting organized, it's about learning to live with the noise.

The palette is intense, even contradictory. The colors do not seek classical harmony, but rather coexistence. As happens during one's twenties: everything happens at the same time. Fear and euphoria. Confusion and desire. Black structures, contains, and defines; it functions as the consciousness that tries to give form to an emotional body that is still under construction. It does not repress: it supports.

The eyes—open and vulnerable—do not look outwards, but inwards. There is something childish in their gesture and something exhausted in their expression. This duality is key: it is not a broken face, but a face in transition. The mouth, almost like a grate, suggests contained words, thoughts that have not yet found a way out, but are already pressing to do so.

And yet, despite the visual chaos, the work is not pessimistic. Quite the opposite. The colors vibrate like flowers that grow even in the most difficult terrains. Here the metaphor is clear: picking flowers is not denying the crisis, but choosing to pause within it. To smell, to touch, and to observe. To recognize that life—long, beautiful, and complex—does not wait for everything to be resolved to offer something valuable.

The new textures are not only technical: they are also temporary. They feel like exploration, like permission. The artist no longer runs; he walks through the field. He learns to look without haste, to enjoy the process without demanding immediate answers. The work speaks of emotional maturity without solemnity, of growth without pretense.

Ultimately, this piece does not document a crisis: it documents a decision. The decision to live it with open senses. The decision to accept that blooming doesn't always look pretty, but it always feels real.

Picking flowers here is an intimate, almost political act: choosing sensibility in a stage that often demands toughness. And that—in the midst of a quarter-life crisis—is a profound form of bravery.