The Shell

In a modern, grim city of skyscrapers, life moves like a machine driven by two pistons. In the half-darkness of office buildings, anonymous clerks, as if taken from a Kafka novel, incessantly tap on typewriters. Golden coins fall from cash machines, reflecting a human figure in Leonardo da Vinci’s perfect proportions. Grotesque figures with stretched, blurred faces scurry between floors, while residents gaze through narrow windows that, from afar, resemble bars. Deformed beings, reminiscent of Bacon’s paintings, crowd into elevators moving between levels. The square in front of the main building—a simplified version of Metropolis—is filled with a dense crowd. Gradually, the figures merge into a chaotic, uneven mass, pushed by an invisible force toward the edge, dominated by a large shell—a symbol…