Original artwork description:

Six o'clock. The garden holds its breath as shadows stretch like languid cats across the white table. The last golden light filters through the foliage, trembling as if uncertain whether to stay or fade away.
A shadow creeps across the table, soft as chiffon, blurring boundaries until the apples and lemons appear half-real, like fruits from a dream. No color deceives as green deceives.
It can be cold—almost blue—on the darkening spinach leaves, and warm—nearly yellow—on the skin of an unripe lemon. It hides in shadows and shouts from sunlit branches—this chameleon color that cannot decide whether to comfort or accuse.
But the chair creaks when you rise. The spell breaks. And the last thing you see before turning away is a solitary lemon, half in light, half in shadow, perfectly balanced between gold and oblivion.

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