Time crept in, then stepped forward as material.

Drawing seeped outward, into daily life, into work that could only live outside the white cube.

“LINEAR POETRY”

graphite on paper, since 2023.

… Value took over quietly. Layers began to stack across time and movement abstraction and space. …

composition of value and lines rendering myth, value, abstraction and communication into coherent imagery powerful enough to create a hierarchy of lineage.

To tell the story of The Artist Mindset,

It started with a decision. A line, placed once, no correction. Then another. And with it, the quiet understanding that once a line exists, time has already moved. There is no return to the moment before it. Somewhere there, drawing stopped being about making pictures.

It became a way of standing inside time instead of observing it from a distance. Early on, form was taken apart with care. Figures, architectures, bodies; reduced to single-value lines. Not as an act of refusal and not to provoke, but to see what would remain if everything unnecessary was removed. It wasn’t destruction. It was closer to testing the load-bearing walls. The line held. Style fell away. What stayed was presence.

Once the line was understood as something that happens and not something that represents, accumulation followed naturally. Drawings no longer stood alone. They began to lean on one another, to form assemblies with beginnings and never-endings that felt less like compositions and more like conversations. Large walls filled, not as statements, but as systems with each part dependent or each absence felt.

Time crept in, then stepped forward as material. Parallel sequences, chronological ones. Images no longer marked moments; they stretched them. From that point on, conceptually and practically, nothing could be undone.

The practice narrowed and sharpened; live bodies, no editing, no revision.

Each line finished the instant it appeared. This restraint wasn’t just aesthetic, it was ethical. Every mark carried the weight of having been chosen once and only once. The drawings began to read like evidence of attention that could not be replayed.

Eventually, the studio proved too small. Drawing seeped outward, into daily life, into work that could only live outside the white cube. Observation stopped being a separate activity and threaded itself into enterprise, logistics and into decision-making. The artist’s mind became the site of inquiry; most simply a way of operating.

Around this time, Africa enters – structurally. As a place where systems are visible. Where art, work and a convivial life can be built together or not at all. It functions less as a backdrop than as a proving ground. An ecosystem where ideas either circulate or collapse.

As the work continued, line loosened its dominance. Value took over quietly. Layers began to stack across time and movement, abstraction and space. As graphite thickened, the traces accumulated and the drawings stopped behaving like surfaces and began to behave like memory, alive with overlap.

Somewhere along the way, drawing became capable of carrying thought. Not illustrating it. Carrying it. Texture and rhythm began to do the work language usually claims for itself. The drawings started to read like linear poetry.

By then, the practice no longer needed explanation. There is no finished body of work to point to. It had become legible on its own terms because nothing here resolves into a single object. What forms instead is a way of moving through the world with a coherence that holds across art, life and enterprise without trying to unify them artificially.

The materials were never just graphite or ink. They are time, sustained attention and the responsibility that grows when neither can be taken lightly. The drawings remain. The line remains. And within them, the trace of a life operated deliberately adjacent to the mainstream – never quite inside it.

It had become legible on its own terms because nothing here resolves into a single object.