Paintings

In Honeylamb’s underworld, Hell isn’t fire. It’s memory.

These paintings are glimpses from that place: an underworld shaped not by punishment, but by longing and fantasy. Within it, cherubs bury tiny bodies that never were, fairies cradle grief like a flower, and soft, uncanny creatures wander through dim light.

Each piece is part of a quiet mythology. One that reimagines damnation as a landscape of escapism, nostalgia, and tenderness gone strange.
Honeylamb’s Hell is gentle, but its gentleness burns. It’s where sweetness curdles into the surreal, and where comfort becomes a haunting kind of love.