Untitled 11 (Vermillion Rift)

Saturated in a fevered red field, the composition reads like a membrane of atmosphere—dense, enclosing—yet it is cleaved by a narrow vertical seam that glints with metallic light, suggesting a fissure where interior pressure meets the possibility of release. Submerged geometric traces—triangular forms rising like simplified peaks—hover between construction and apparition, their edges softened as if memory has rubbed away certainty. The work stages a quiet drama of containment and rupture, where warmth becomes both shelter and alarm, and the smallest incision of brightness proposes a way through.