This wall doesn’t bloom — it stands its ground. A dense crowd of cacti rises in layered greens, sliced with shadow and sharp vertical rhythm. Everything here is presence: thick skins, guarded edges, quiet resilience. In the heat of Sevilla, the imagery feels less symbolic than accurate — survival rendered as pattern, repetition as strength. It’s a garden without softness, a club of plants that don’t bend easily, but endure with style intact
