Untitled 12 (A Flock's Embrace)

A crescent-like mass of stippled black seems to hover in a field of white, its granular edges dissolving into air as if the form is perpetually being made and unmade. Below, a muted ground catches its echo—an inverted, softer constellation—so the composition becomes a meditation on reflection not as mirror, but as memory: dispersed, delayed, and incomplete. The small, luminous void carved into the darker body reads as an interior silence, a breath held at the center of density, while the thin tether between above and below suggests the fragile thread by which presence is translated into trace.