Untitled 13 (Night Lights)

Against a dense, almost velvety black field, the painting releases its presence in reluctant flashes—small gridded panels and smeared rectangles that read like distant windows, half-erased memories, or urban signals muffled by night. The sparing accents of red, blue, and a single wedge of yellow behave as emotional coordinates, guiding the eye through a fractured architecture where light feels earned rather than given. Layered scumbling and ghosted marks create a sense of depth that is less perspectival than psychological, as if the surface were a palimpsest of lived time. What emerges is a meditation on concealment and disclosure: the quiet insistence that meaning persists, even when the world is seen through shadow, interruption, and doubt.