They emerge only to vanish. Shapes that might have been bodies dissolve into shadow and light, stripped to the bone, leaving traces that whisper of presence without form. Not flesh, not figure, not identity-only the echo of what slips away, the delicate fracture between being and unbeing.
Water does not hold. It does not wait. It erases, softens, dissolves. Each painting becomes a space of surrender, a place where shape gives way to absence, and the human form exists only in memory, in loss, in the lingering impression of disappearance.