


A charged field of vermilion and scarlet establishes a psychological weather—part sunrise, part alarm—against which a jagged skyline of stacked rectangles rises like memory architecture, continually built and eroded. Cool blues and violets puncture the heat, creating pockets of breath and distance, while thin linear accents and suspended triangular forms read as signals, rooftops, or warnings—small directives in a restless urban score. The layered, scraped surfaces refuse polish, letting absence and overpaint become as eloquent as structure, as if the city is less a place than an accumulation of lived pressure and sudden quiet.







