A close-up of a natural composition. Restricted color palette and delicate lines.

The rusted metal grips the teal walls, clamps them down and spreads like a parasite. Age is inescapable. The scars are permanent. Nobody will rebuild this place. Nobody will paint it anew. The only path to freedom is disintegration.

Take the wheel, murky waters ahead.

A surface twists and distorts its object of spatial affection.

Some delicious metal chocolate textures. A skyscraper smooth as a guitar string.

Wood and stone, with streams of light. A collage of materials.

Two doors. Same materials: wood and metal, paint. Which do you prefer?