Charcoal has always felt like a second skin to me—raw, unforgiving, and honest. It doesn’t let you hide, only refine. Every mark stays, every shadow breathes.
I’m not ready to share the whole piece yet, but this part holds something I didn’t want to lose in the noise.
Sometimes the story lives just as strongly in a single detail.
There’s something about early morning or late afternoon light that turns the ordinary into a quiet mystery. This piece began with that feeling—the soft geometry of sunlight filtering through my balcony, stretching across the floor and pulling the room into long, contemplative shapes.
My cat, caught in that moment looking off to the right, became the anchor—as if watching something just beyond the frame.
I have used muted tones and layered textures to let the light do most of the talking. The tiled floor has become almost a second painting within the painting, holding fragments of pattern, memory, and reflection.
(I need to walk away from this painting for a few days as the lines are driving me bananas 😂 I just need to tidy up some of them and finish the cat…)
