2024 September #013. Patterns once concealed within the canvas's void whisper into existence, birthing contours from obscurity, an orchestration of forms. There's something deeply rhythmic here, where connection weaves through chaos with a preordained inevitability. And yet, with each stroke, chance plays its part, dictating divergences, splintering uniformity into multifaceted existence. Consider the paradox of the eye wide open, unseeing yet overtly fixed on something beyond the frame, a silent conductor to this visual symphony. It raises questions of perception and the nature of reality, of what it is to truly see. Every hue is deliberate, mocking the randomness we are so often surrounded by, challenging observers to find meaning behind the gradients of experience. The figures, arrayed as both separate entities and part of a larger tableau, speak of the duality inherent in life. Isolation within a community, individuality within a species, disparate thoughts within a singular mind. They move unwittingly to a symphony only they can hear, backstory provided by the murky undercurrent of collective unconsciousness. Pause to consider the still serenity of the forms branching out, enveloping space. They grow like thoughts, multiplying, dividing, tangling, until what was once barren is a lush landscape of confrontation between what is known and the limitless possibilities of the unexplored. These are manifestations of inner dialogues, expressive dances between form and formlessness. The canvas - my theatre, the pigments - my actors, the brushstrokes - their steps. Every element a note in an evolving cosmic score. And in the overlap, in the intersection of lines and curves, stories told without a single uttered word manage to say so much about the chaos from which clarity eventually springs.

Machinations of Weathered Time

Machinations of Weathered Time

Machinations of Weathered Time

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Machinations of Weathered Time

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