Finding Radiance in Vastness: Embracing Fragility and Strength in A Small Thing in Immensity

Sometimes I make something and don’t know what it’s about until later. This one felt like that. At first, I thought it was just about space — all that white, all that quiet. But the longer I looked, the more it felt like standing on the edge of something enormous and realizing you’re both fragile and infinite at the same time.

The figure here is small on purpose. She’s surrounded by what feels like nothing — but it’s not empty. It’s possibility. It’s breath. It’s the pause before the next thing happens.

The Dress That Became an Ocean

That blue — it wasn’t supposed to be that intense. But when it landed that way, I left it. It felt right. Like she’s wearing the ocean itself, heavy and alive. The red below could be earth, or blood, or the cost of becoming who you are. I never really decide for the viewer. I just build the space and let people fall into it.

The Butterflies

Up in the corner, almost easy to miss, are a few soft white butterflies. They’re memory, or ghosts, or maybe just motion — the reminder that stillness isn’t the same as silence. Even in the emptiness, something’s always moving.

What It Means (for me, anyway)

A Small Thing in Immensity is about how small we feel sometimes, and how that smallness can still hold beauty. There’s something holy about realizing you don’t need to fill the whole sky to belong to it.

Maybe this is about surrender. Or resilience. Or both. Maybe it’s just about standing still long enough to notice you’re still here — even when the world feels impossibly large.