Small worlds,
one line at a time.

Small worlds in paint marker — organic, cell-like forms crowded with dots, waves, spirals and tiny flowers. Each is built the same way and never the same twice, one line at a time with no sketch underneath, every shape filled until it is full. Some carry titles Basia gave them and stories in her words; the rest are named for the figures that surfaced in them.

Each piece is built the same way and never the same twice: a single wandering outline divides the paper into chambers, and every chamber is then filled — dots, ric-rac, stripes, spirals, the occasional bloom — until the whole surface hums. Nothing is planned to represent anything, and yet faces, tides, gardens and creatures keep surfacing on their own.

The titles come after the paintings, not before. Some Basia named herself — the Maiden and the Crone, Inanna returned whole, a Bodhisattva mid-awakening — and those carry her own account of the day they were made. Across the rest, the same feminine figures kept appearing on their own, and they are named for who turned up.