“Storm”… and despite the name, there is neither thunder nor wind here — only the tension before them.
The tree is a giant, and from its root a hand is born — human, powerful, striving. As if the earth itself rises to answer the storm.
Boyan has captured that moment when nature and human are no longer separate beings — one hand holds the other, sap becomes blood, and the storm turns inward.
See how the branches do not merely sway — they search for something. Like souls torn from the soil, yet unable to break free.
“Storm” is anger and prayer in one. It holds strength, but also solitude — because anyone who has grown out of pain knows that the storm never comes from outside. It rises from within, from the root.
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“Storm”… and despite the name, there is neither thunder nor wind here — only the tension before them.
The tree is a giant, and from its root a hand is born — human, powerful, striving. As if the earth itself rises to answer the storm.
Boyan has captured that moment when nature and human are no longer separate beings — one hand holds the other, sap becomes blood, and the storm turns inward. See how the branches do not merely sway — they search for something. Like souls torn from the soil, yet unable to break free.
“Storm” is anger and prayer in one. It holds strength, but also solitude — because anyone who has grown out of pain knows that the storm never comes from outside. It rises from within, from the root.
Lia