10 Hours 21 Minutes Life Facsimile (Eye of the Storm)

A single, bruised ring of charcoal-black pigment turns within a field of chalky white, as if an orbit has been pressed into the surface and left to weather. The thick, scarred impasto catches light like sediment, making the circle feel less like a symbol and more like a trace—evidence of repetition, erasure, and return. At the center, the pale void reads as both aperture and absence, pulling the eye inward while the surrounding arcs resist closure, suggesting a mind circling a thought it cannot quite name. In its stark restraint, the work becomes a meditation on cycles: protection and confinement, focus and fatigue, the quiet insistence of time made visible.