The surface moves like liquid light, folding and colliding until direction loses meaning. Lines that once marked boundaries now behave like currents, pulling color into motion and motion into depth. Gold and teal surge through magenta and violet, twisting into waves that seem to build and collapse at once. It’s less a pattern than a field of forces — everything pushing, bending, merging, and re‑forming in continuous flow.

A familiar pattern, drifting now as if on a liquid surface.

The shared DNA with Minerva is clear here. But that is just a starting point — the art comes from the way everything shifts, how the surface seems to move even when it’s still.

Electricity — the pattern still flickers underneath, but the current has taken over.

A warmer current here, the structure carrying signals rather than holding shape.

A cooler pulse — the lines behaving like pathways for light.

A familiar grid, gently uneven — the surface beginning to move.

All of Proteus shares the same DNA, inherited from Minerva. The series isn’t a linear evolution but a set of distinct jumps in different directions, sometimes so far that the origin becomes unrecognizable. Expect more of these jumps along the way — they’re part of the system. (No, Minerva and Proteus they were not related in Mythology.)

Proteus is a sea‑dweller who could change his shape at will. Some call him the son of Poseidon, others describe him more as a servant or keeper of the changeable sea. He was also a seer, though one who revealed the future only when held fast.

I can add colours to the chameleon,
Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,
And set the murderous Machiavel to school.

Almost everything here is hidden beneath a black cover — not background, but a deliberate act of erasure. What breaks through does so with pressure, like light forcing its way past something meant to contain it.

A few more with yesterday's theme follow.

The cover changes color, but as with the previous pieces, the act of hiding remains.

Now the surface itself begins to move.