Split of Morning

Bathed in a haze of sunlit yellow, this abstract acrylic unfolds like a memory of morning—half landscape, half sensation. A tall, moss-green column anchors the composition, splitting the field of light and setting a quiet vertical rhythm. Around it, calligraphic black gestures sweep, loop, and intersect, echoing the cadence of handwriting or the flicker of wings. Pools of sage and teal cool the upper right, while terracotta and rust bloom on the left like petals caught mid-turn, suggesting organic forms without fixing them in place.

The painting thrives on the tension between airy translucence and decisive mark-making. Thin veils of color are dragged and scumbled across the surface, letting earlier layers breathe through; then a single, confident stroke slices across, shifting the balance. Negative space matters as much as pigment—the pale passages act like pockets of silence, amplifying the musicality of the darker lines. The palette reads as nature-adjacent—leaf, clay, water, light—yet remains firmly in the language of abstraction, inviting the eye to wander rather than to name.

Emotionally, the work hovers between buoyancy and grit. Its luminous grounds carry a sense of renewal, while the gestural marks add urgency and lived texture. Viewed up close, you’ll notice the friction of bristle trails and the soft edges where colors feather together; from a distance, the structure resolves into a dynamic, asymmetrical harmony. It’s a painting that rewards repeated looking—like stepping back into the same garden at different hours, discovering how light edits the world.