A fractured landscape unfolds like a memory rebuilt from shards: ochres and burnt siennas press forward in broad, sun-warmed planes while colder greys and blues erode the edges, suggesting weather, time, and distance. Angular forms—part architecture, part terrain—rise and collapse into one another, their sharp diagonals cutting a restless rhythm that keeps the eye moving between structure and dissolution. Light is not painted as a single source but as a residue caught on surfaces, where pale whites and scraped textures read like brief clearings in an otherwise sedimented atmosphere. The work ultimately feels like an interior map of place—where certainty (the solid field of gold) coexists with instability (the splintered silhouettes), proposing the city and the self as equally unfinished constructions.