By the third pull, the hand and the wood had reached an understanding. What emerged here is the slab's architecture — two distinct centers of growth, their rings orbiting separately before converging at the bottom of the frame. The crack runs through the upper field like a fault line, white against the dark grain, neither decorating nor damaging — just marking where the wood made a decision about itself long before anyone pressed ink to its surface. The corners open into negative space. The composition found itself. This is the print where the slab stopped being a surface and became a place.
