The Untended

A cluster of leaves spreads low and wide, radiating outward in quiet insistence—each vein extending like a direction, yet belonging nowhere in particular.

From their center, slender stems rise, carrying small yellow blossoms—light, dispersed, almost weightless—as if they arrived without intention.

At the base, traces of earth emerge—faint washes of ochre and muted violet,barely holding the suggestion of soil.

Nothing here is cultivated.
Nothing arranged.

Color flows freely into form, and form yields back into space.

These are not flowers that seek to be seen, but those that remain—growing where no one thought to look.
Ink and color on Xuan paper.