Holding fragments of past and present self in tenderness.
Rearranging marks, traces, memories, and spaces — anchoring the self in the heart, finding emptiness.
What I love about this work is that the squares aren’t fixed to a larger canvas; every now and then I rearrange them, and a different story emerges.
The lines, like threads, shift with the passing hours; they tell new stories depending on the light that falls upon them and the gaze that meets them.
The form remains, yet the eye wanders in the mystery of narration.

ink on paper