Strata of Witness portrays the earth as a living archive—layered, wounded, and observant. The uppermost band, deep black, evokes both the vast unknown and the weight of human disregard. It looms as a void, a visual silence that suggests the disappearance—of species, memory, and responsibility. It is the unspoken canopy under which all else unfolds.

The middle section, rendered in dual whites, splits the idea of purity. The lighter upper white is interrupted by raw umber and burnt sienna surging upward—earth pigments pushing against erasure, asserting their presence against the illusion of cleanliness. Below this, the starker white serves as a sterile register, emptied of vitality yet complicit in the division. This section serves as both rupture and testimony—where hidden pain emerges, demanding to be recognized.

Grounding the piece is a foundation of grey concrete—cold, inert, and human-made. Across its rigid surface, white drips fall like unacknowledged tears. This final stratum is not merely material but moral: a hardened reminder of what we choose to build over, what we silence, and what still grieves beneath. In Strata of Witness, the land does not accuse—it records. Quietly, irrevocably, it bears witness.