| Twelfth in the Genomic Works sequence, George Harrison unfolds as a quiet constellation of fragments. A soft, pink-toned face hovers near the center—faded, reflective, neither fully present nor fully gone. Around it, the vertical bands pulse with layered imagery: sun motifs, waves or flames, ornamental textures, and abstract forms that resist naming.
There’s no fixed narrative here. The canvas offers rhythm, atmosphere, and suggestion. It holds space for memory, for dissolution, for the kind of presence that flickers rather than declares. The Tarot card appears, but like everything else, it floats—unresolved, unclaimed.
George Harrison invites the viewer to drift. To read without decoding. To feel without anchoring. It’s a canvas that trusts ambiguity, and in doing so, becomes a mirror for whatever the viewer brings to it.
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