Untitled ( The Parallax View ) began during a time of profound uncertainty. The canvas was, at first, a monument—something that could be both looked at and looked from. It anchored me to that place and moment, reflecting two possible futures, one of which felt catastrophic. Over time, the image was exhibited, then taken off its stretcher and stored—out of sight, gathering dust. When I returned to it, the emotional charge it once held had shifted. What I had once labored over, I no longer felt bound to. I began removing large areas, erasing elements I no longer liked. In the process, even parts I had wanted to keep began to fall away. Rather than resist, I surrendered to that momentum of reduction. There was an unexpected satisfaction in the act of removal—in destroying what I had once so carefully made. The image that emerged is stripped, pared down, raw. What remains speaks more clearly to me than what came before. There’s something deeply temporal in this process—something was here, and now it’s gone. The marks left behind are quieter, humbler. They suggest not just what was, but what has passed. I’m drawn to the humility of that. It reminds me of Rauschenberg’s Erased de Kooning Drawing—how absence can be as loaded as presence, and how erasure can be a form of truth.