She stands quietly in a world that was supposed to celebrate art. Around her are the symbols of NFT culture — the noise, the market, the trends, the apes, and the endless promises of a new world for artists. But she only watches. She watches as an artist can spend hours, days, even months creating something real, yet finding someone who truly sees and collects that work becomes a dream in itself. On the other side, the NFT apes stand around her — creatures imitating humanity, repeating human poses and gestures, copying one another, and sometimes attracting more buyers and more desire than the human artist ever could. And here, a bitter contradiction emerges: The apes have replaced the human. Copying has replaced creating. Repetition has replaced meaning. In this strange world, the real human is barely visible anymore. The real artist — carrying all the emotion, experience, failure, time, and pain behind the work — stands at the edge, while repetitive and soulless versions receive more attention and more demand. Perhaps this is the small apocalypse of the NFT world: A place where the human is still present, but no longer seen. This work is not against NFTs. It is about the dream NFTs were supposed to give artists — a world where the value of an artwork comes from its vision, its story, and what was truly created, rather than from the noise built around it. Maybe the saddest part is not losing the market. Maybe it is watching the dream slowly disappear while everyone keeps pretending it is still alive. Requiem for a Dream for a world that was supposed to put the human at the center of art, but ultimately lost itself among endless copies. medium: watercolor and color pencils