A continuous looping line traces three rises and falls across the surface, its pale grey weight sitting somewhere between drawing and writing. Finch's hand moves with loose confidence - the strokes thickening at each arc's crest before tapering into descent. The tone is deliberately quiet, almost erasure-like, as though the composition is being remembered rather than declared. What remains is a pulse, rhythmic and unhurried.
A continuous looping line traces three rises and falls across the surface, its pale grey weight sitting somewhere between drawing and writing. Finch's hand moves with loose confidence - the strokes thickening at each arc's crest before tapering into descent. The tone is deliberately quiet, almost erasure-like, as though the composition is being remembered rather than declared. What remains is a pulse, rhythmic and unhurried.
- Curatorial note, wifärt gallery