Once, there was a melody that couldn’t be heard but only felt—born not of instruments, but of lived moments, scattered thoughts, and quiet emotions that refused to fit into neat lines. These fragments, each carrying their own rhythm, their own mood, began to gather.
One fragment was smooth and warm, like a memory of being held. Another was sharp and striped, humming with urgency. Some carried laughter. Others carried silence. All were different—some geometric, others flowing like water—but they needed each other to become whole.
They didn’t speak the same language at first. They bumped, resisted, stretched. But slowly, they started listening. A black curve leaned toward a wooden line. A circle settled into an empty space. The chaos became choreography. And together, they created something unexpected—not a perfect harmony, but a resonant, pulsing symphony of difference.
This piece tells their story—the story of how even the most contrasting parts of ourselves or our lives can find rhythm when we stop trying to smooth them out. Not despite their differences, but because of them.
 
52” x 25”,  Plywood cutouts, acrylic paint