It’s Just Beginning functions as a rescue mission for color. By using black paper, the artist starts from a place of total erasure; every petal and mountain peak is a deliberate retrieval of light from a void. The bottom third of the composition is a riot of “foreground noise”—clashing reds, whites, and oranges that feel almost impatient. The oil pastel isn’t just applied; it is shoved onto the grain. You can see where the sticks have stuttered and caught, leaving behind a thick, waxen braille that makes the flowers feel heavy and physical.

This floral congestion contrasts sharply with the upper half of the work. The central peak isn’t a mountain so much as it is a puncture in the sky. It sits there, a dark purple weight, anchoring a horizon that seems to be melting. The transition from the “sulfur” yellow at the base of the peaks to the bruised violets at the top edge suggests a specific, fleeting window of time—that moment where the sun is still a secret behind the earth but is already turning the air into something metallic.