Between

What you see is yours alone.
No other viewer will see exactly this.

A line rises from below, curves at its peak, and descends, fluid, unhurried, alive. Two eye-lines float above it, and a smaller mark rests beneath, like a breath caught mid-exhale.

This is the most architectural of the four. The central line might be the bridge of a nose. It might be the spine of a person bowing. It might be the road between two people who no longer speak, visible from above, from the distance of memory.

The line connects nothing explicitly. It simply passes through.

Between asks what lives in the space between two people when one of them is gone. Not in the dramatic aftermath, not in the acute wound of loss, but in the ordinary middle of a Tuesday afternoon when you reach for your phone to tell them something, and remember. That moment, the reaching is what this drawing holds.

The eyes do not explain the line. The line does not explain the eyes. The artist drew what she could and left the rest to you. What you see between them is yours alone. No other viewer will see exactly what you see. That is not a flaw in the work. That is the work.