Chroma Frenzy

On the work

For something called Chroma Frenzy, the color is surprisingly dusty; the frenzy is all in the movement. A black stroke climbs through a worn yellow field while thin rust lines slash across it, and nothing agrees on where to stop. It moves the way a mind does when the body has to stay put, every mark handing the eye to the next and none settling as the center. Think of a crowded head, where any quiet has to be found inside the noise. Through all of it, the black stroke keeps climbing toward the top edge, as if it means to get out.