Those arms at last 2026 – 41 x 35cm, acrylic, spray paint on canvas
One ground holds everything. The dark warmth of earth rather than the cold of void, something the triangle grows from rather than pierces, its interior fire contained within the geometry that gives it form.
Below the threshold, the suspended world: forms floating in deep green, each one distinct and unhurried, preserved in the patience of not yet being named. The large oval at the centre holds its own interior, dripping, watching or not watching, present in the way that stones are present, without intention, without absence.
The arms don’t reach. They have already arrived, already opened into this, the concentrated point above, the scattered life below, the gold bar between them that is neither ceiling nor floor but the place where two conditions meet and hold each other without resolving.