**“Not Human Not Donald Duck”** A figure emerges—familiar, yet impossible to place. It stands upright, almost portrait-like, but its identity dissolves the longer you look. The head is elongated, soft and undefined, leaning into abstraction rather than anatomy. There are no clear human features, no recognisable character—only suggestion. Two hypnotic, spiralling eyes stare outward, pulling the viewer into a quiet unease, as if consciousness itself is being questioned. A bold blue mask cuts across the face, evoking themes of concealment, identity, and modern disconnection. Is it protection, silence, or censorship? The figure offers no answer. The body flows rather than forms—lines curve and taper into geometric fragments below. Pink and purple ribbons of shape wrap around the torso, contrasting with sharper, angular elements in green and red. This interplay between fluidity and structure hints at a tension between organic life and constructed identity. The background is rich and textured, a deep burgundy field that feels both intimate and oppressive. To the side, a vertical strip—green fading into a metallic, almost corroded surface—introduces a subtle industrial intrusion, grounding the surreal figure in something more physical, yet still ambiguous. The title, *“Not Human Not Donald Duck,”* acts as both anchor and disruption. It rejects categorisation outright. The viewer is pushed to confront the instinct to label—to recognise—and is denied that comfort. It sits somewhere between cartoon and human, symbol and being, humour and discomfort. Ultimately, the painting exists in a liminal space: not quite character, not quite person— but something that reflects both, and belongs to neither.