Drawing is a quiet, tensile thread pulled through time. It is a practice of attention, of listening closely to line, to weight, to the spaces left untouched. Long before colour arrived, there was graphite, charcoal, ink: elemental materials that taught me how to see, how to stay. Drawing offers a kind of intimacy with thought as it emerges—raw, tentative, immediate. These works trace the architecture of gesture, the repetition of forms as they echo and shift. They carry the memory of the hand, the pulse of decision and revision. In drawing, I find clarity and concealment held in tension—a surface that holds both structure and surrender. If painting is expansion, then drawing is distillation. It gathers, pares back, returns. It invites a kind of slowness, a fidelity to process that feels like prayer. Here, in the monochrome hush, I learn again and again how to begin.