Back To Genesis

A vast field of earthen reds and dusted ochres stretches like a weathered wall of memory, its surface scored by drips, seams, and hairline crackles that read as time made visible. Scattered figures—a solitary animal, a small bird, and fossil-like forms—hover in a shallow, wavering space, as if the desert itself were a stage for fragments of narrative that refuse to cohere into certainty. The cool, twin rectangles of blue at the right edge puncture the warmth like distant windows, proposing an elsewhere that is both promise and interruption. What emerges is a quiet allegory of endurance and dislocation: life persists, but only as traces suspended between erosion and revelation.