Kusama’s infinity rooms aren't just visual spectacles—they're immersive diaries of obsession and healing. The repetition of dots, lights, and mirrors reflects both mental fragility and resilience. Art becomes sanctuary.

Charlotte Wells' Aftersun captures the ephemeral beauty of childhood memories and parental absence. Paul Mescal delivers a restrained, aching performance. It’s a sun-soaked film that quietly devastates with its emotional undercurrents.

On a Sunbeam" blends sci-fi and queer romance in a universe where architecture floats and relationships anchor the soul. Walden's dreamy art and elliptical storytelling make it one of the most poetic graphic novels in recent years.

Mark Rothko’s canvases aren’t just paintings—they’re experiences. Standing before a wall of color, the viewer is invited into introspection. His abstract fields demand slowness, silence, and a willingness to feel more than understand.

"Past Lives" by Celine Song is a delicate exploration of identity, memory, and what-ifs. Without special effects or action sequences, it anchors its emotional gravity in silence and glances. A24 once again champions intimate, slow-burning storytelling that lingers longer than spectacle.

Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home is more than memoir—it’s a layered excavation of identity, grief, and literature. With crisp linework and literary depth, Bechdel redefines what graphic storytelling can achieve.