Confronting Adversities was a painting that refused to settle—it lived in my studio for quite some time, constantly rotated, repositioned, reconsidered. Orientation itself became a metaphor for uncertainty. I turned it again and again, stepping away, returning, letting it linger in silence while I worked on other pieces. Eventually, I began integrating fragments—elements pulled from different works that seemed to belong here. The painting demanded a slow, persistent edit, pulling me toward a resolution I didn’t expect, yet recognized deeply. That process mirrored much of my own life: moving forward in fits and starts, reshaping direction, learning when to let go and when to hold on. My greatest fear in painting is always the temptation to overwork, to blur the honesty of instinct. But this piece needed surprisingly little correction. Once I found its true orientation, the composition resolved into a kind of unified conversation between shape, media, and movement. It reminded me of a landscape cracked open by light—a sun or moon bursting in the center of night. That’s the feeling that stayed with me. When I sign a work, I let it go. Not because the battle is won—but because, finally, the battle is done.