Order Of Things

A solitary, anatomized figure stands like a living schematic, its body mapped in looping, multicolored lines that make flesh feel simultaneously intimate and engineered. Around it, an orbit of geometric solids, botanical spores, and animal emblems—most poignantly the poised owl—forms a quiet cosmology where instinct, science, and memory negotiate a shared language. The pale ground operates as a clinical void, yet the hand-drawn tremor of each contour softens the taxonomy, suggesting that identity is assembled from observed fragments rather than possessed whole. In this suspended field, the work reads as a meditation on how the human self is continually translated between organism and diagram, wonder and measurement.