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Ludwig Favre revisits the mountain lake at dusk when the sky holds its weight of cloud, a low ceiling pressing down on the water. The neon trace, a distant ring, cuts through the dark like a sign left unread, its light reflecting in the still surface before dissolving into the approaching night. The pines stand as sentinels along the shore, their silhouettes sharp against the softening sky. Part of Favre’s ongoing exploration of landscape and absence, where the presence of light becomes its own form.
