Mourning Without an Object
30 × 25 × 4 cm
Acrylic on canvas.
Two figures share the landscape. One stands at the top of a hill, facing the other, but their gaze drifts outward—past what’s near, toward something unreachable. The second figure climbs toward them, hurried, hopeful, as if the motion itself might change the course of things. The space between them is narrow, yet weighted—held in the tension between nearness and disconnection.
The painting emerged from a kind of ending many have known: not sudden, not shattering, but slow. A drifting apart. When presence remains, but intimacy slips away. When gestures persist, but meaning no longer arrives with them. It leaves a particular kind of ache—the shape of something once shared, now absent. And with it, a quiet question: was there ever enough?
In this moment, the figure climbs like Sisyphus—not condemned, but compelled. The hill is steep, the motion endless, but the hope is real. Each step carries the belief that this time, something might shift. That love might still be met. The tragedy isn’t in the failure to arrive—it’s in the beauty of trying anyway.
Julia Kristeva describes depression as “an abyss of sorrow,” a mourning without a clear object—where language falters, and grief becomes atmospheric. In this painting, that unnameable sorrow finds form in space and movement. The hill, the climb, the turned gaze: these are not symbols, but expressions of a sadness that resists articulation. The kind that doesn’t end, but loops—hopeful and unfinished.
Simone de Beauvoir, in her exploration of love, wrote of the asymmetry of giving oneself fully to another while remaining unseen. Here, that dynamic is palpable—not in the act of meeting, but in the quiet of reaching out, hoping to be seen, yet never fully recognized. The painting does not resolve this asymmetry; it instead offers it as a space of persistence. The work does not ask for resolution. It offers only the image of effort: of love as repetition, and of the body moving toward something it can never quite reach.
The color palette further deepens this emotional tension. The sky glows in a warm, radiant yellow, while the figures are rendered in deep, almost bruised purple. These complementary colors are not just visual opposites—they create an optical effect where the eye can’t quite settle, as the contrasting hues seem to vibrate against one another. This dynamic mirrors the tension between the figures: the distant presence of one, the hurried approach of the other. The unsettled nature of the colors reflects the emotional dissonance of the scene—a space where desire and absence pull in different directions, leaving the viewer in an unresolved state, much like the figures themselves.
Free shipping anywhere in the world.
30 × 25 × 4 cm
Acrylic on canvas.
Two figures share the landscape. One stands at the top of a hill, facing the other, but their gaze drifts outward—past what’s near, toward something unreachable. The second figure climbs toward them, hurried, hopeful, as if the motion itself might change the course of things. The space between them is narrow, yet weighted—held in the tension between nearness and disconnection.
The painting emerged from a kind of ending many have known: not sudden, not shattering, but slow. A drifting apart. When presence remains, but intimacy slips away. When gestures persist, but meaning no longer arrives with them. It leaves a particular kind of ache—the shape of something once shared, now absent. And with it, a quiet question: was there ever enough?
In this moment, the figure climbs like Sisyphus—not condemned, but compelled. The hill is steep, the motion endless, but the hope is real. Each step carries the belief that this time, something might shift. That love might still be met. The tragedy isn’t in the failure to arrive—it’s in the beauty of trying anyway.
Julia Kristeva describes depression as “an abyss of sorrow,” a mourning without a clear object—where language falters, and grief becomes atmospheric. In this painting, that unnameable sorrow finds form in space and movement. The hill, the climb, the turned gaze: these are not symbols, but expressions of a sadness that resists articulation. The kind that doesn’t end, but loops—hopeful and unfinished.
Simone de Beauvoir, in her exploration of love, wrote of the asymmetry of giving oneself fully to another while remaining unseen. Here, that dynamic is palpable—not in the act of meeting, but in the quiet of reaching out, hoping to be seen, yet never fully recognized. The painting does not resolve this asymmetry; it instead offers it as a space of persistence. The work does not ask for resolution. It offers only the image of effort: of love as repetition, and of the body moving toward something it can never quite reach.
The color palette further deepens this emotional tension. The sky glows in a warm, radiant yellow, while the figures are rendered in deep, almost bruised purple. These complementary colors are not just visual opposites—they create an optical effect where the eye can’t quite settle, as the contrasting hues seem to vibrate against one another. This dynamic mirrors the tension between the figures: the distant presence of one, the hurried approach of the other. The unsettled nature of the colors reflects the emotional dissonance of the scene—a space where desire and absence pull in different directions, leaving the viewer in an unresolved state, much like the figures themselves.
Free shipping anywhere in the world.
30 × 25 × 4 cm
Acrylic on canvas.
Two figures share the landscape. One stands at the top of a hill, facing the other, but their gaze drifts outward—past what’s near, toward something unreachable. The second figure climbs toward them, hurried, hopeful, as if the motion itself might change the course of things. The space between them is narrow, yet weighted—held in the tension between nearness and disconnection.
The painting emerged from a kind of ending many have known: not sudden, not shattering, but slow. A drifting apart. When presence remains, but intimacy slips away. When gestures persist, but meaning no longer arrives with them. It leaves a particular kind of ache—the shape of something once shared, now absent. And with it, a quiet question: was there ever enough?
In this moment, the figure climbs like Sisyphus—not condemned, but compelled. The hill is steep, the motion endless, but the hope is real. Each step carries the belief that this time, something might shift. That love might still be met. The tragedy isn’t in the failure to arrive—it’s in the beauty of trying anyway.
Julia Kristeva describes depression as “an abyss of sorrow,” a mourning without a clear object—where language falters, and grief becomes atmospheric. In this painting, that unnameable sorrow finds form in space and movement. The hill, the climb, the turned gaze: these are not symbols, but expressions of a sadness that resists articulation. The kind that doesn’t end, but loops—hopeful and unfinished.
Simone de Beauvoir, in her exploration of love, wrote of the asymmetry of giving oneself fully to another while remaining unseen. Here, that dynamic is palpable—not in the act of meeting, but in the quiet of reaching out, hoping to be seen, yet never fully recognized. The painting does not resolve this asymmetry; it instead offers it as a space of persistence. The work does not ask for resolution. It offers only the image of effort: of love as repetition, and of the body moving toward something it can never quite reach.
The color palette further deepens this emotional tension. The sky glows in a warm, radiant yellow, while the figures are rendered in deep, almost bruised purple. These complementary colors are not just visual opposites—they create an optical effect where the eye can’t quite settle, as the contrasting hues seem to vibrate against one another. This dynamic mirrors the tension between the figures: the distant presence of one, the hurried approach of the other. The unsettled nature of the colors reflects the emotional dissonance of the scene—a space where desire and absence pull in different directions, leaving the viewer in an unresolved state, much like the figures themselves.
Free shipping anywhere in the world.