Tina Bell Vance

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Anatomy of Loneliness

A lone figure, bent forward, a dark void where their heart should be. The texture is raw, almost burning, and the body appears cracked, as if the surface holds secrets waiting to be whispered. Shadows stretch across unseen landscapes, and the figure’s solitude is palpable. Words—fragmented, faded—scatter across the image like lost thoughts, vanishing into the darkness that seems to swallow everything.

Signs of Life — Anatomy of Loneliness

A lone figure, bent forward, a dark void where their heart should be. The texture is raw, almost burning, and the body appears cracked, as if the surface holds secrets waiting to be whispered. Shadows stretch across unseen landscapes, and the figure’s solitude is palpable. Words—fragmented, faded—scatter across the image like lost thoughts, vanishing into the darkness that seems to swallow everything.