Return Without Opening: the gesture that refuses to land

A four-metre brushstroke that folds back before it reaches the edge.

A four-metre brushstroke that folds back before it reaches the edge.

One black stroke on chrome yellow, held at four metres until I believed it.

Two gestures that could meet but never do—the tension is the whole point.

The vertical fall breaks rhythm halfway down, and I left it that way.

Two colours forced together until the friction becomes the subject.

A pale field interrupted exactly once - the line I needed most was the one that destroyed it.

Deep indigo holds the bottom like everything you carried all week, then light forces through.

Black driven through orange, then scraped backwards - the fight you had after the fight ended.

Paint laid down fast and left alone, at the scale that makes wanting visible.

Hot pink spread further than it should have, still wet at the edge—wanting something badly and not hiding it.