Soft Collapse

Layered, spontaneous, unguarded. This one didn't ask permission — pigment played and settled where it wanted. A small flower bloomed almost by accident. The closest thing to joy without trying.

Built in layers, each one a response to the last. Made as release — the kind of piece that finishes itself.

Inspired by the spoken word poem by Mamadou. Listen on Spotify

Messy. Slightly lost in the space — as lovers often are. A window into something unnamed. Through each other, a glimpse of the galaxies we carry inside. Written in the sky before either of them knew.

A new tenant in an old apartment. Something broken, fixed, broken again. Covered. Accumulated. Still standing.

The beauty isn’t in the resolution. It’s in the not knowing what to do with it, and staying anyway.

Painted in accumulation and removal, Scar Tissue works through the logic of the body — what is laid down, what is stripped away, what bleeds through regardless. The arc, half-buried, is not a symbol but a record. The two vertical forms at the center arrive not as figures but as presence: something that stood here and left its impression. This is painting as excavation — not of landscape, but of interior chronology.

From the archive, finally shared. Hung in the studio for years — quietly behind everything else that came after. A foundational reminder.

Prayers and mantras written into the surface, wax melted from candles burned over it. Text that dissolves before it can be read. Like clouds: present, then passing.

The piece is never finished. You can keep burning candles, keep writing. A living document of devotion.