Pen on paper, from the same body of six to seven works built over months of slow, deliberate drawing. Where The Landscape I Remember holds onto what is recalled, this work sits in the space between what is remembered and what has already slipped away. The broken line continues its earlier struggle: leaving the village for the city meant finding a new way to communicate, and here that struggle takes visible form, the line folding and tightening until it resembles shackled barbed wire. What remains legible is not language exactly, but the effort of trying to speak one.