The Hanging Gardens of Babylon — mythological, abundant, lost — provide the starting point. But where the legend celebrates excess, this work does the opposite: charcoal strips the garden back to its structural truth.

Drawn from memory rather than observation, Semiramis’ Garden captures the forest before the leaves arrive — when branching logic is still fully visible, not yet concealed by growth. Black and white is not a stylistic choice but a conceptual one: colour would restore the beauty that the work deliberately refuses. What remains is the skeleton of a garden — the architecture beneath the abundance, the bone beneath the bloom.