PRELUDE OF RAPE, 2022.

Oil on linen

Behind a veil of radiant leaves, where nature pretends serenity, a silent scene unfolds — heavy with omens. A female figure, carved in marble, stands unaware, surrendering to the moment, unknowing she is being watched. There is no movement, no voice. Only waiting. The lush, colorful foliage offers no shelter — it is witness. From its folds emerge eyes — human, animal, unknowable — watching without shame. Hands, pupils, shadows creep between the stems like restrained desire, like violence yet unnamed. A bitten apple rests in the foreground, echoing ancient mythologies — a promise of something soon to be lost. A still-unused condom lies at the figure’s feet, a symbol of a choice perhaps never granted. And at the center, she. Beautiful, motionless, alone. “Prelude of a Rape” does not show the act, but it hints at the abyss. It is the held breath before the fracture. A visual poem that confronts without screaming, that strips without touching, that asks without giving answers. Art, like the body, can be a field of contemplation… or conquest.