While making this painting, I found myself growing tired of stories.

Artists are often expected to explain what they wanted to say, how much they suffered, or why a particular work matters. Over time, I began to feel that these narratives often reveal more about the artist than about the painting itself.

One day, our names and our stories will mostly disappear.

There are no figures in this painting. It may resemble a landscape, but it is not intended to depict a particular place. Even the word landscape feels inadequate.

What interested me instead was the space that remains between forms. The image is not constructed through narrative, but through the tension, distance, and relationships that emerge where one plane meets another.

This is what has always drawn me to Kazimir Malevich's work. His black contours are not outlines that describe objects. Rather, they establish boundaries that allow one plane of color to exist independently from another. In this painting, I wanted those boundaries to exist as forms in themselves.