sensational
30x40”
oil on canvas
the in-betweens that we traverse through daily are our hallways, staircases, serpentine park trails and work commutes. they're all passageways that have a destination i n sight, but we always go back to where we came from, which is a cosy bed tucked in safety and lit by moonlight. there is no true beginning and end in a spiral, despite our attempts at depicting spirals. a spiral is defiant—it chooses its own path. the negative space of a spiral is another spiral. in flatland, a spiral is simply a line, but in axis Z the spiral is something else. a spiral is honest, a spiral is true, because there is no bullshit with a spiral.
Kissing Me Sounds Like
Brooklyn, 2023–present
