Fanned Fronds began with a single line — gestural, unplanned, finding its own path across the page. From that line, or perhaps simply alongside it, these circular forms emerged: each one a frond, radiating from a central point, fanning outward like a seed head or a lily pad or something seen briefly underwater and then lost.
This is the work I return to when I think about what drawing actually is. Not planning, not controlling — following. The line went where it wanted. The fronds appeared where they needed to. The white space remained because nothing needed to fill it.
Of all the works in this body, Fanned Fronds is the one that feels most like the beginning of something. Light, breathing, alive.
