How quiet this graphic is — and how much voice it carries.
“Shell” is a city from another time, nestled within a sea-born memory. The houses are like seashells,
piled from human lives, bound together with faith and salt.
They grow upon the shell so naturally, as if the sea itself had decided to raise its own city —
not of stone, but of echo.
Looking at it, one feels how every street resounds — softly, like childhood,
like the memory of a shore that no longer exists. The shell is both home and tomb:
it shelters, yet reminds of all that has been lost.
This city is not merely drawn — it has heard the sea
and has remained to repeat it forever, enclosed in its thin, ringing casing.
“Shell” is nostalgia turned into architecture.
The city does not crumble — it listens.
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How quiet this graphic is — and how much voice it carries.
“Shell” is a city from another time, nestled within a sea-born memory. The houses are like seashells, piled from human lives, bound together with faith and salt.
They grow upon the shell so naturally, as if the sea itself had decided to raise its own city — not of stone, but of echo.
Looking at it, one feels how every street resounds — softly, like childhood, like the memory of a shore that no longer exists. The shell is both home and tomb: it shelters, yet reminds of all that has been lost.
This city is not merely drawn — it has heard the sea and has remained to repeat it forever, enclosed in its thin, ringing casing.
“Shell” is nostalgia turned into architecture.
The city does not crumble — it listens.
Lia