.Her .It .Nothing Real
a black Lamborghini Countach stands at the centre of a constructed illusion—an icon, uncompromising and near-mythical. Around it, a surreal set unfolds: CGI forms rise like echoes of lost digital ruins, somewhere between sculpture and dream. The space feels suspended in time—crafted, not found. The Countach isn’t captured, it’s worshipped. Each frame becomes a relic of something imagined, a memory from a future that never arrived. There’s tension in the stillness, motion in the silence. The human presence—a single actress—anchors the fantasy, yet deepens the unreality. Flesh beside machine. Reality beside simulation. Nothing here is quite real—and that’s precisely why it lingers.
