Desolate landscapes merging into still territories, still lives turning into abandoned landscapes.

The glistening graphite core hissing its way through the damaged paper.

Sharp granite greys. Glimpses into exoskeletons.

Memories extending themselves as patterns beyond the absence of space they once inhabited.

Existential voyeurism of intimate scenes brought into the public eye.

The loneliness of a drawing. Its vastness contrived by its own means of existence.

Something private. Something unique. Something shared.

The first moment, the first movement.

Pencil stains being the very first physical rendering of any given idea.

Something imagined, something dreamed, something remembered, something observed.

Before an image becomes a drawing, before a thought becomes an object, there is its shadow.

The very first bone, the very first sketch.

An intrinsic relation within the paper and the pencil. Soft yet rugged.

The paper being some kind of halo to the construct itself.

The paper as martyr, allowing its…