



Shaped like a painter’s palette, the work becomes a self-reflexive stage where fragments of portraiture, botanical sketch, and typographic debris drift in and out of legibility, as if memory were being mixed rather than recorded. Earthy creams and greys are punctured by deep green bands and rhythmic polka-dot fields, creating a push–pull between calm, archival surfaces and lively, insistent pattern. The partially obscured faces—one rendered with a classical poise, another reduced to a mask-like oval—suggest identities caught mid-translation, suspended between public signage and private reverie. In this collage-like layering, the palette reads as both tool and metaphor: a site where cultural residue, timeworn marks, and intimate image-making are fused into a quiet, unresolved narrative.







