Day 8,
I’m searching for my path—the one I draw for myself. My work appears like a map without a legend: a network of thick forms, almost like roads, that interlock, cross, block, and then begin again. You don’t see a place—you inhabit a journey.
I’m also searching for my style, the one I discover by exploring who I am. Each day, like each brushstroke, is a discovery: one step forward, or sometimes one step back—toward myself. The black masses guide the eye like corridors; you move through turns and detours, rarely in a straight line. The knots become intersections, the narrow passages become moments of doubt, and the closed zones become necessary dead ends.
Contrast carries everything: the black weighs heavy—what is already built, habits, fears, constraints—while the whites open breathing spaces, pauses, possibilities. The textures, hatching, and rubbed marks tell of time, attempts, mistakes, and a lived material that refuses perfection. And the small signs scattered throughout act like inner road signs: mood signals rather than decoration.
At its core, Small Turns doesn’t depict a path that’s been found, but a path being made—an inner navigation made of tension and release, tiny decisions, detours, and a steady movement toward who I’m becoming.
Collect on: