Seen from the street, this wall first reads as a gentle landscape: rounded hills beneath a wide, soft blue sky, a few birds drifting through the air. Look again, and the ground beneath them shifts. These hills are not built from earth or stone, but entirely from flowers — petal by petal, repetition becoming volume. There is no tension in the sky, no sharpness in the colour. Everything is rounded, softened, eased into place. Even the birds are reduced to simple gestures. After the island’s usual rush of colour, it feels like Koh Pa-Ngan exhaling — the same light, the same climate, filtered through restraint. Not spectacle, but tenderness.
