Atlantis

At first, I called it “Yellow” — a warm, wide image, with soft light and fragile contours. A typical village, frozen between clouds and lines that flow downward. I was drawn to that quiet tension between what seems stable and what begins to slip, between stillness and flow.

Then my cousin said: “To me, it feels like Atlantis.” An island caught in a whirlpool, suspended between sky and disappearance. And I liked that.
Because, in truth, that’s what it is: “Atlantis” is a possible world, but an uncertain one. The dream of a settlement floating between stillness and loss.
A story about something on the verge of vanishing — or perhaps just beginning to appear.