Veins of a Wounded Ground presents the earth as both surface and body—divided, burdened, and silently enduring. The top section, rendered in grey concrete, suggests the imposition of human permanence: a hardened layer of infrastructure and disregard. Beneath it, a dense black field speaks to absence and disconnection—a void where empathy and ecological responsibility have been eclipsed.

The bottom third shifts into exposed vulnerability: a stark white ground, overrun with raw umber and burnt sienna drips. These marks fall like wounds in motion, mapping a bleeding terrain. The fluidity of the pigment resists containment, echoing the unchecked spread of environmental degradation.

This work is a quiet act of mourning. The earth does not scream—it absorbs. These drips are not decorative but declarative: the veins of a planet long harmed, still offering itself in silence. Veins of a Wounded Ground asks us to see not only the damage but also the dignity of what remains.