Grasses

Long blades of grass in pink and red sweep across a dark centre, where a mouth full of pale fangs opens among swirls of teal and green. Speckles of white paint float over the black like spray or spit or stars.

Read one way it is a face pushing through undergrowth; read the other it is the undergrowth itself, alive. The grass is painted with a single confident stroke per blade, and the whole picture turns on that rhythm.