Untitled 161 (Crimson Horizons)

A heated field of earthen reds spreads like a scorched horizon, where scraped pigments and bruised stains read as the archaeology of feeling—layers laid down, interrupted, and recovered. Against this expansive warmth, a cool, chalky wedge of white and grey breaks the surface like exposed stone or a sudden breath, giving the composition a fault line between endurance and vulnerability. The sweeping diagonals and buried marks suggest a landscape remembered rather than seen, translating distance into an intimate register of pressure, weather, and time.