“I don’t want to be alone..”

from $30.00

by Goliath

A solitary figure sits curled in the hollow of their own making, wrapped in the quiet luxury of absence. The composition breathes with empty space—soft, expansive, almost tender in its emptiness. Shadows stretch long but do not haunt; they cradle, they keep. The figure is both isolated and embraced, their form etched in delicate, weary lines, as if the act of being alone has worn them smooth.

There is no crowd here, no clamor of voices, only the muted hum of solitude. Yet within this silence, there is a quiet defiance—a reclining into the self, a whispered "enough" that lingers in the air like smoke. The colors are muted but warm, as if the absence of others has allowed a different kind of light to seep in.

This is not loneliness, not quite. It is the slow unraveling of the fear of it. The title lingers like an afterthought—*maybe a little bit*—a reluctant admission that solitude, too, can be a companion. The piece does not scream its isolation; it exhales it, slow and deliberate, finding a strange, stubborn comfort in the hollow it has carved for itself.

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by Goliath

A solitary figure sits curled in the hollow of their own making, wrapped in the quiet luxury of absence. The composition breathes with empty space—soft, expansive, almost tender in its emptiness. Shadows stretch long but do not haunt; they cradle, they keep. The figure is both isolated and embraced, their form etched in delicate, weary lines, as if the act of being alone has worn them smooth.

There is no crowd here, no clamor of voices, only the muted hum of solitude. Yet within this silence, there is a quiet defiance—a reclining into the self, a whispered "enough" that lingers in the air like smoke. The colors are muted but warm, as if the absence of others has allowed a different kind of light to seep in.

This is not loneliness, not quite. It is the slow unraveling of the fear of it. The title lingers like an afterthought—*maybe a little bit*—a reluctant admission that solitude, too, can be a companion. The piece does not scream its isolation; it exhales it, slow and deliberate, finding a strange, stubborn comfort in the hollow it has carved for itself.