A soft toy dog on the left; on the right, a fabric-wrapped form lit from behind. The scene half-remembers an anecdote: Alexander stands over Diogenes, offers him anything, and is asked only to stop blocking the sun. Diogenes was called the dog, and here the dog is stuffed. The philosopher who held nothing asks for the one thing that cannot be held.

I build the painting from objects captured through photogrammetry and then released. Scale collapses, edges soften, sources stop declaring themselves. What survives is not the object but its residue: an image copied, circulated, misremembered, compressed. Recognition arrives late and never fully settles.

That delay is the subject. We hold cultural memory the way this painting holds its anecdote: approximately, at the wrong scale, in the wrong light. The holding is what deforms it.