Two lines cross; neither holds the other. Between them — everything that could not be said.

Before the linen, there was sound. Before the ochre line, a voice — offered as a gift, carried as witness, given a form the giver could not have anticipated. The linen received what the original could not hold alone. The full story waits for the right room, the right moment, the right gathering of people to hear it together.
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What the surface holds in the meantime is this: two lines of ochre-gold bisecting a dark field — scored, dragged, imprecise at their crossing. They do not complete a symbol; they enact a pressure. The ground is not empty but pressurised — burgundy and near-black holding heat without releasing it, the surface crossed with fine incisions that read as frequency, as interference, as the evidence of something that passed through. The lines do not meet cleanly. They carry a gap that language has not yet been given permission to name.
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The void here is not absence. It is the space a person occupies when what they carry has no sanctioned form. And the vibration — caught in the scratched texture of the field, in the live drag of the ochre against linen — is what persists anyway. The frequency of a life. The hum beneath silence. The rhythm a heart keeps even when the mouth does not follow.
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This work is asking you to wait.

76 × 76 cm · Oil (Michael Harding & Old Holland) on Claessens Oil-Primed Belgian Linen · 2026 · Signed Verso