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INK talks about the fearless determination to leave a mark—a mark that endures despite knowing it would eventually disappear. Every stroke contains a poetic contradiction: the search for permanence in a world that is doomed to go. Each line, whether drawn in pencil or rust, or in blue or black, represents a piece of human experience, whether it be letters, figures, or animals, but none of it is genuine; it is only experiences, prejudices, nightmares, and devils. We rely on memory, which is limitless, endless, and exclusively ours, rather than the gradual deterioration of ink, paper, or maybe 1 day pixels.