Tomas Knipscheer sets a rhythm section loose across the page — ranks of crimson half-moons punctuated by cobalt and sunflower dots, each row a bar of some silent, syncopated score. It reads like Bauhaus sheet music, or a flock of bright birds frozen mid-migration. Glazed in a glowing copper-toned frame, the warm metal lifts the reds until the whole thing hums. And it does hum — audibly, almost insolently — a music for the eyes that asks the ear to retire in embarrassment, each crimson arc a downbeat, each stray dot a grace note flung into the margin by a hand that trusts the silence between marks as much as the marks themselves. To stand before it is to be conducted: the gaze is swept left to right and back again, drumming an unhearable rhythm against the inside of the skull, while the copper frame smoulders around the composition like the warm wood of an instrument that has just stopped playing and has not yet decided to stop singing.
- Medium
- Cheap print (B1)
- Framing
- Cheap plastic frame, wood-effect, glazed
- Artwork size
- 700 mm × 1000 mm
- Framed size
- 730 mm × 1030 mm
