



A dense field of crimson saturates the surface like a held breath, turning space into a chamber of heat where geometry feels both ritualistic and precarious. Triangular formsβsome weighted and opaque, others faintly incisedβhover between monument and wound, while scratched, looping marks read as restless annotations, as if thought itself has been dragged across the paint. Subtle shifts of sheen and shadow create a quiet, internal light, suggesting depths beneath the red that are sensed rather than seen. The composition becomes a meditation on containment: order implied by strict shapes, yet continually unsettled by the nervous, ember-like residue of gesture.







