Memory does not return whole. It returns in fragments: the outline of a glass, the shape of a hand, the trace of a table once set for two. This is where Aliya Abs begins: in the aftermath. In soft attachments, paint and line exist in different states of time. Some works are inhabited by figures and interiors; others are stripped back to objects incised into dark grounds, floating against pale unresolved fields. These are not sketches but the shape of memory itself: precise in outline, empty at the centre. The works move through romantic relationships without fixing them, tracing hesitation, intimacy, absence, and the solitude that persists within closeness. Paris appears not as backdrop but as interior landscape, while still life objects return as quiet elegies for shared lives. Abs develops a painterly language between appearance and withdrawal. Her...