I picture my inner landscape as a field of competing gravities. Each source of influence carves out a personal territory, yet only those regions that form confident, fully-voiced shapes remain. Whenever a putative cell degenerates into a thin, uncertain wedge, I erase it—an act of conscious self-editing that favours clarity over completeness. The surviving polygons, striped in proportion to their weight, stand as assertive statements amid quiet lacunae, revealing a self defined as much by deliberate omission as by presence.