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Franz Marc’s Genesis II isn’t Sunday-school Genesis. His Eden seethes: a serpent-horse coils through yellow and green, temptation flickering through muscle and myth. Marc imagined a world before language — color doing the talking, faith expressed in cobalt and viridian instead of halos. Hold the garden in your hand: tangled, luminous, alive. A case for anyone who suspects paradise was never peaceful, just artfully complicated.