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Oil on wood. Flat Top leans out of the darkness like a half-remembered monarch from a dream, his long, lantern neck rising from a wash of deep midnight blues and bruised violets. Framed in exuberant, shattered gold, he feels like the patron saint of beautiful imperfections: a quiet guardian for anyone who’s ever felt a bit lopsided and luminous at the very same time.
Oil on wood. Flat Top leans out of the darkness like a half-remembered monarch from a dream, his long, lantern neck rising from a wash of deep midnight blues and bruised violets. Framed in exuberant, shattered gold, he feels like the patron saint of beautiful imperfections: a quiet guardian for anyone who’s ever felt a bit lopsided and luminous at the very same time.