CLIFF

A figure pulled from the edge.

Cliffs, washed down into the body.
Something geological, something held just under the surface — a reference to sirens without ever showing them.

The print reads like a landscape seen too close.
Not scenic. More like being inside it.

The cut is direct and uninterrupted, holding the image in one continuous field.
It sits close, clean, without distraction.

Part of the Japanese Breakfast MELANCHOLY riff.