‘Yerevan Tower’ (2024), 100 x 100 acrylic on canvas, graphite, pencil, oil pastel.
This piece was sparked by an image I couldn’t shake—a tall, skeletal tower standing against a soft sky in Yerevan, Armenia’s capital. There’s something poetic about it: part landmark, part lifeline, quietly sending signals into the air. It felt like a metaphor for connection—fragile but powerful.
The painting plays with lines and shapes that feel like loose scaffolding or antennae, but nothing’s too literal. It’s more about suggestion than structure. Think of it like tuning into a faint frequency, where meaning is just on the edge of recognition.
I used a quiet palette—cool greys, stormy blues, soft mustard tones—to let the lines do most of the talking. If you look closely, you might see echoes of buildings or landscapes, but they come and go, like static on an old radio. This one’s about messages, memories, and the things we pick up—even when we’re not quite sure what we’re listening for.
‘Yerevan Tower’ (2024), 100 x 100 acrylic on canvas, graphite, pencil, oil pastel.
This piece was sparked by an image I couldn’t shake—a tall, skeletal tower standing against a soft sky in Yerevan, Armenia’s capital. There’s something poetic about it: part landmark, part lifeline, quietly sending signals into the air. It felt like a metaphor for connection—fragile but powerful.
The painting plays with lines and shapes that feel like loose scaffolding or antennae, but nothing’s too literal. It’s more about suggestion than structure. Think of it like tuning into a faint frequency, where meaning is just on the edge of recognition.
I used a quiet palette—cool greys, stormy blues, soft mustard tones—to let the lines do most of the talking. If you look closely, you might see echoes of buildings or landscapes, but they come and go, like static on an old radio. This one’s about messages, memories, and the things we pick up—even when we’re not quite sure what we’re listening for.
