



A muted grid of circles, squares, and triangles rises like an excavated diagram, its ochre-gold surfaces bruised by abrasion and soot, as though time itself has been rubbed into the pigment. The strict geometry promises order, yet the layered textures and misalignments fracture that certainty, turning the composition into a record of systems—codes, cities, or memories—slowly eroding under lived experience. Light seems to pool in the warm passages and retreat into charcoal seams, creating a push-and-pull between revelation and concealment that feels both archival and intimate. What emerges is a quiet meditation on how meaning is built from repetition: symbols recur, but each iteration carries a different weight, like language weathered by use.







