silver skin

What the retina perceives is merely a construct of light particles. In the Munsell system, hue stretches along the x-axis, brightness along the y. Yet, beyond this codification, color remains an artifact—mutable, corrected by the desires of its era.

Stripped of this fluidity, what remains?

Grayscale gradients, contour lines, the raw intensity of what is captured. A pixelated roundness, an image refusing immediate clarity—demanding distance, insisting on its own terms. Over this fragmented vision, a silver layer is cast. Silver, a metal that breathes, oxidizing from white to yellow, yellow to red, red to blue, until time, in its slow alchemy, turns it black.

Through this filter of shifting light, a monochrome world fractures—becoming infinite, as the mind recalls the colors that once were, or imagines those yet to be.