Untitled 1

This monochrome work reads like an artifact pulled from memory—part domestic container, part encoded ledger—where dense, rhythmic bands press downward with the authority of tradition and habit. Against that weight, a patchwork of compartments opens into a private cartography: grids, droplets, and a solitary eye that seems to watch from within the structure, turning the object into a quiet witness. The raw, print-like mark-making—smudged blacks, scratched whites—lets chance and abrasion speak, suggesting that identity is assembled through repetition, erasure, and the stubborn persistence of pattern.