The Pink House, remembered in motion.
The sky swirling, the grasses alive, everything just slightly untethered, like memory itself.
I kept thinking about how a place doesn’t live in straight lines once it’s gone. It softens, shifts, becomes something more emotional than physical.
This painting is less about the structure, and more about what surrounded it… what held it… what still does.
For those who understand how a place can become part of you.
The Pink House, remembered in motion.
The sky swirling, the grasses alive, everything just slightly untethered, like memory itself.
I kept thinking about how a place doesn’t live in straight lines once it’s gone. It softens, shifts, becomes something more emotional than physical.
This painting is less about the structure, and more about what surrounded it… what held it… what still does.
For those who understand how a place can become part of you.