Fulcrum

A tall, cloaked figure stands balanced on a dark wedge, the stone that holds it up and could also split it apart. Its form is closed and guarded, turned inward as if mulling something over, or bracing for what's coming. Above it sits a head of raw red stone, burning against the cool grey, part fire and part counterweight. Three materials, fitted by hand, hold a single tension: a necessary decision that is also a painful one, and a balance that lasts only as long as everything stays still.