Untitled 1

This dense, all-over field of mark-making reads like a weathered palimpsest—layers of rusted reds, ember oranges, and muted greens suspended over a cool, ashen ground, as if time itself has been scraped, rewritten, and stained back into the surface. The composition denies a single focal point, inviting the eye to wander through a labyrinth of micro-gestures where repetition becomes rhythm and texture becomes narrative. Its flickering chromatic weave suggests both corrosion and renewal, holding the tension between urban residue and organic growth, between the violence of abrasion and the quiet persistence of accumulation.