Ancient Rings 86 holds three veiled discs within a quiet field of ivory, each distinct in tone and gesture. One green, one yellow, one blue—these ovals are not merely forms, but focal points: anchors of emotion, intention, and memory. Their surfaces are alive with suspended veiling—movements caught just before meaning crystallizes.

The green feels like a script paused mid-stroke, calligraphic and hovering in thought. The yellow is fractured, almost tectonic—a buried sun reshaping itself through time. The blue reaches outward in soft tendrils, botanical and exploratory. Together, they speak three languages: motion, anchor, and structure.

The vessel’s ivory lattice bends and tightens, particularly at the base, where the grid becomes architectural—measured, compressed, and quietly resolute. It doesn’t simply frame the insets; it converses with them. A script of containment and continuity, the weave holds what the gestures begin.

Ancient Rings 86 is not declarative. It asks. It remembers. Each arc and filament holds traces of intention and hesitation—of the hand in motion and the fire that followed. It is a memory form: a vessel that gathers past and presence into stillness, then offers it back as a whisper.