Study of a tree

This kind of study is always a struggle for me. The moment I sit with the tree and try to translate its twisted form onto paper, I feel the weight of its complexity pressing down. Every knot in the bark, every restless angle of the branches, seems to demand more than I can give. Instead of calm concentration, I’m pulled into a kind of tension, as if the act of observing amplifies my own stress.

The tree is full of contradictions—lines colliding, forms overlapping, surfaces that never quite resolve. Trying to capture them feels like trying to hold my own anxious thoughts still long enough to make sense of them. There’s no smooth rhythm, only constant interruption, and the drawing becomes a mirror of that inner agitation.

What should be a study of nature turns into a confrontation with myself. The struggle is not just with the tree, but with the way complexity unsettles me—pushing me to wrestle with both the subject on the page and the tangled restlessness inside.