A soft toy dog on the left; on the right, a form wrapped in fabric and lit from behind. The scene half-remembers an anecdote: Alexander stands over Diogenes, offers him anything, and is asked only to stop blocking the sun. Diogenes was called the dog, and here the dog is a stuffed one. The philosopher who held nothing asks for the one thing that cannot be held.
I build the painting from objects captured through photogrammetry and then released. Scale collapses, edges soften, sources stop declaring themselves. What survives is not the object but its residue: an image copied, circulated, misremembered, compressed. Recognition arrives late and never fully settles.
That delay is the subject. We hold cultural memory the way this painting holds its anecdote: approximately, at the wrong scale, in the wrong light. The holding is what deforms it.
Gallery
