Window

I watched my hometown transform before my eyes. Once a quiet, tightly knit neighborhood, it was the kind of place where houses stood so close together that neighbors could gossip over fences or chat from second-story windows. It felt warm, familiar—a place where every face was known, and every corner held a memory.

But my hometown sat right on the edge of the country’s financial district. And slowly, inevitably, the tide of urbanization crept in.

Bit by bit, homes were sold, making way for towering condos, bustling apartments, trendy bars, and neon-lit eateries. The tidy green gardens disappeared, the tall trees were cut down, and those last wild patches of earth—where mischievous kids once played hide and seek—vanished under layers of concrete.

And the windows—those charming, flower-framed windows where potted plants arched over the sills, where neighbors exchanged morning greetings and evening farewells—gone. Replaced by steel, glass, and cold, impersonal facades.

You can’t fight urbanization. Progress moves forward, whether we wish it to or not. But in my mind, I still see those windows, still remember the faces that once leaned out of them, smiling, laughing, sharing a moment before the city swallowed them whole.

This artwork is my way of holding onto those memories.

A vivid composition capturing the warmth of nostalgia—three potted flowers stand against a brick wall, framed by intersecting rulers that form an X-shape. Botanical elements weave through the scene, blending natural beauty with structured geometry. The vibrant, patterned background mirrors the delicate balance between old-world charm and the unstoppable rhythm of change.