All Posts

Every drawing begins with a framework. I have always loved that early, fragile stage of sketching, when the lines are loose and searching, forming what is called a wireframe . It’s the skeleton of creation, the unseen scaffolding that holds everything together. A wireframe sketch is not about perfection; it’s about understanding. It’s a way of listening to the shape before it speaks. Each line traces the invisible rhythm of movement — a gesture, a tilt of weight, the tension

I have always been fascinated by fossils. There’s something almost sacred about holding a piece of life that once moved, breathed, and existed millions of years ago. It’s as if time folds in on itself — and for a fleeting moment, I am touching both the past and the present. Fossils are storytellers. They carry with them the weight of entire worlds that no longer exist, whispering of ancient oceans, forests, and creatures that once roamed beneath the same sun we see today. Whe

I visited a maritime museum recently — one filled with artifacts: fragments of ships, rusted compasses, delicate glass bottles... Each relic carried the weight of stories that once sailed and then sank into silence. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about shipwrecks — they are reminders of both human ambition and nature’s quiet authority. As I walked among the exhibits, I found myself imagining the hands that built these vessels. Each bolt and plank once part of a dream

I went to an aquarium the other day. It’s always a strange experience — walking through dim light, surrounded by glass that feels thin enough to break, yet thick enough to separate two worlds. The underwater realm has an alien stillness to it, a rhythm that doesn’t belong to us. Time seems to stretch and slow, as if the water itself bends it. I found myself staring at the creatures drifting by — translucent jellyfish, silver schools of fish that moved as one, a slow-gliding r

Scrapes and eraser marks cover the old tracing paper surface. Torn and worn, it traded many hands before being stored away. Old plans: the hidden gems of the architectural world. I had the privilege of working in an archive during my university years — a quiet sanctuary where time felt suspended. Rows upon rows of drawers held the work of architects who had come before us: carefully drafted lines on brittle sheets, smudges that revealed hesitation, annotations made in faded p