Dusk Dock

This painting builds a rugged architecture out of sea-glass blues, tar-black passages, and burnished ochres. Broad, interlocking planes are scumbled and dragged so earlier layers flicker through, giving the forms a weathered, worked history. A pale horizontal band runs across the middle like a scraped horizon; above and below it, the color deepens into petrol blues and near-indigo. The surface alternates between matte veils and dense, oily swaths where the brush leaves ridges and direction, letting materiality become part of the drawing.

Compositionally, the eye is caught by a tall, asymmetrical arc that swells from the lower center and leans right, meeting a heavy, dark cap. This arching form feels bodily and architectural at once—keel, doorway, rib, or cliff—anchoring the cluster of shapes around it. Rectangular blocks on the left counterbalance the curve, while slim uprights and delicate contour lines act like scaffolding, stitching the geometry together. The diagonals tucked near the top edge pry the structure open, preventing the mass from settling into stasis.

Color carries the emotional charge: the cool blues are tempered by earthy browns and a striking ochre that reads like worn brass catching light. These warmer notes slide over the blue ground, sometimes transparent, sometimes opaque, creating zones of pressure and release. Scratches, transfers, and ghosted marks whisper of revisions—decisions made, doubted, and remade—so the composition feels discovered rather than designed.

The mood is coastal and industrial—part harbor at dusk, part ruin—yet it never resolves into depiction. Instead, it meditates on weight, balance, and the way light abrades surfaces over time. Stand back and the painting holds like a tough, modern monolith; step close and it becomes a palimpsest of gestures: rubbed edges, graphite snags, dry-brush crosshatches, and small seams where one layer yields to another.