A bicycle reduced to its few honest lines.
A 12×18 cm canvas with very little on it: two wheels suggested rather than
drawn, a frame written in a single confident gesture, the rest left to the
warm cream of the ground. The piece works because of what’s missing — the
way a bicycle is mostly memory, leaning against something, half-seen. It’s
the kind of painting that pairs well with a book shelf or a bedside lamp;
quiet on the wall but specific.
