He lifts a cluster of grapes in a gesture suspended between innocence and sensuality. The thyrsus resting by his side affirms his divinity, yet his form breathes with human softness, etched by the tremors of feeling. His downward gaze reflects a solitude that lies beyond ecstasy, blending the divine and the tender fragility of youth. Both joy and sorrow are poured into the same cup—he is the stillness that lingers after the revels fade.