In Veiled Horizons, the paper bends but does not break. Layers are folded inward and outward, shaping a topography of quiet tension—creases rising like ridgelines, valleys dipping into shadow. Each fold interrupts the surface yet holds its own serenity, suggesting landscapes both external and internal, imagined and remembered. The act of folding becomes a kind of inward gesture—an introspection made visible—where thought and material mirror one another in restraint. Unlike the rawness of tearing or the surrender of erosion, folding is an act of containment, an architecture of stillness where fragility and resilience converge. The palette remains subdued and luminous, echoing earth and light. These works reveal not through absence, but through the quiet compression of space, the subtle shifting of tone across ridges, the horizon lines that form when matter and mind alike yield, briefly, to the passing of time.