


Arranged as a measured grid, these nine ochre grounds act like reliquaries for circular “worlds” whose marbled greens and inky voids feel at once botanical and planetary, as if each disc were a cross‑section of memory suspended in pigment. The strict geometry steadies the eye, yet the internal turbulence—veins, blooms, and fractures of color—suggests nature’s unruly persistence pressing against containment. Occasional flashes of white and a sudden ember-red interruption puncture the dominant greens, turning the sequence into a quiet narrative of emergence, erosion, and renewal. What reads from afar as order becomes, up close, a meditation on variation: the same format repeating, the same earth-tones returning, and yet no two ecosystems—no two states of feeling—ever resolving identically.







