Marcellus is the first man to appear in my work, and he arrives half-hidden, as if mystery is part of his nature. His eyes are veiled by retro lamps, glowing pink and crowned with flowers—he sees the world through beauty, through softened light. His shirt is a forest, wild and layered, holding the quiet strength of things that grow unseen. Around his neck hang three pink rubber ducks, playful fragments of innocence that he refuses to let go of.
At his back, discreet wings rest, almost invisible but always present. They speak of a spirit that cannot be contained, a soul ready to rise. And above him, an orange bird bursts into flight—his reflection, his freedom made visible.
Marcellus is not defined by what is hidden, but by what he carries: light, mystery, play, and the silent promise of flight. These are the colors of Marcellus.
