Some surfaces do not need to be invented.
Lichen maps a wall. Bark holds a constellation. Sediment stacks a ledger. A night field is already a diagram if you do not fill it.
I look for places where matter has done the abstract work first. Then I add only what my language requires: an off-center glow, one golden seam, the patina of something kept.
The painting is less a landscape than a threshold — the moment a stone or a moss colony starts to read as writing.
