Untitled 11 (Whispering Woods)

A field of vertical strokes rises like a thicket seen at dusk, where ochre light sifts through a dense lattice of trunks and turns the air itself into a textured veil. The composition relies on repetition and compression—countless lines pressing upward from a darkened base—so that space feels both abundant and claustrophobic, as if nature has been distilled into pure rhythm. Subtle gradations of brown and gold suggest a fading warmth, evoking the quiet tension between shelter and entrapment, growth and erosion. In its restrained palette and insistently measured marks, the work reads as a meditation on endurance: a forest not as scenery, but as memory etched into the surface.