Bath times:

“Bath times” holds a paradox: the ritual of cleansing becomes a site of suspended surrender, where the body yields not to relief but to a quiet, almost ceremonial exhaustion. The face half-submerged in water—eyes closed, mouth slack, cigarette still clamped between lips—does not suggest collapse so much as a deliberate relinquishing of vigilance, a moment when control is traded for presence. The vivid pink tiles press in like a memory’s afterimage, their grid both orderly and oppressive, framing the figure not as trapped but as contained within a self-imposed threshold. A hand hovers just above the surface, fingers curled—not reaching, not withdrawing—embodying the work’s central tension: the desire to stay submerged versus the instinct to rise. The yellow border, sharp and unyielding, isolates this intimacy like a relic, insisting that what appears private is also insistently seen. Here, bath time is less hygiene than hauntings: the residue of thought, the weight of stillness, the fragile dignity of letting go without knowing what comes next.