Corps

A seated figure, head turned away, chin tucked, one arm raised to meet the jaw. The surface reads as stone — white, veined, cold at the shoulder — then opens into translucent planes that cut across the torso and thighs at angles indifferent to anatomy. Behind it: a warm ochre disc, a muted slate rectangle, blocks of dusty rose and bare wood. Geometric grounds that do not frame so much as interrupt. The planes that divide the body are not cracks — they are facets, as though the figure has been reassembled from sections that almost match. Each fragment carries its own shadow, its own internal logic. The whole holds together at a distance; up close, the seams refuse to close. Corps does not depict a body under pressure — it is one, material evidence of a weight that has no single source.