Untitled 1 (The Decaying Journey)

A slender procession of train cars stretches across a warm wooden plinth, its cool, slate-grey bodies punctuated by measured apertures that read like a metronome of lived time. The strict horizontality and repeated modules evoke industrial order, yet the clustered, stone-like cargo at the rear interrupts the rhythm—an emblem of burden, memory, or raw material trailing behind progress. In the stark isolation of the white field, the piece becomes less a vehicle than a quiet meditation on transit: how movement can feel both purposeful and weighty, carrying the architecture of routine while dragging the residue of what cannot be left behind.