They appear like constellations in human form — women who glow from within, framed by shadow, touched by light. Cloaked in black, adorned with golden traces, they stand in quiet contrast to the void, luminous and serene.

These portraits are not simply seen, but felt. Each figure radiates with an inner presence, as if illuminated by something unspoken. Iridescent tones shimmer across skin and silence, catching the eye like a fleeting thought at the edge of sleep.

Their surroundings are reduced to darkness, yet nothing feels empty — instead, the void becomes sacred space, allowing every glimmer of color to speak.

This is not about realism, but resonance

These are icons of another kind: celestial, introspective, suspended between elegance and myth.

In them, the cosmic meets the personal, and silence becomes a kind of language.

They are not of this world — and yet, they meet your gaze as if they’ve always known you.