The Edge of an Idea
When I first encountered this image on the water, I was struck not by what it was, but by what it suggested. That is always the most compelling moment for me as an artist — the instant when reality dissolves and the mind begins to wander into speculation. In this work, what began as a simple reflection transformed into something far more ambiguous: a landscape that might be a desert dune beneath a restless sky, or a surreal dreamscape where form and meaning are suspended.
I titled the piece The Edge of an Idea because it lives precisely in that liminal space between recognition and imagination. Like much of Magritte’s work, it resists literal explanation. The golden sweep in the composition feels both monumental and weightless, and the comb-like structure just beyond it hints at human presence without ever revealing its purpose. It’s this deliberate ambiguity — this invitation to complete the story ourselves — that reminds me of Magritte’s poetic juxtapositions.
At the same time, there’s something distinctly metaphysical here that recalls Giorgio de Chirico. His paintings often placed ordinary objects in strange, timeless spaces, creating an unsettling stillness that forces us to slow down and look. That is very much what I hope to achieve here. The horizonless sky, the floating forms, the strange sense of scale — they conspire to hold the viewer in a moment of contemplation, on the edge of knowing but never quite certain.
For me, abstraction is not about abandoning reality but about opening it up — loosening its grip just enough for imagination to take hold. The Edge of an Idea is a meditation on that threshold: the place where perception falters and possibility begins.
