The work begins with the image of an artificial flower endlessly replaced at a grave—an industrially eternalized form of pain that is never resolved, only renewed. The grief I confront here is not that of a single gesture, but of this daily return: a ritual in which love seeks to grasp eternity, yet remains too small to dissolve. In Suivant l'azur, Nathalie Léger describes it thus: what loss brings forth is not the end, but the struggle against weariness, the attempt to restore the course of time anew. Grief does not unfold in a dramatic moment; it takes place between the hours, in that expressionless flow of the everyday that opens up after a sudden disappearance—like the remnants of a world that does not know why someone has gone. The Cast a Flower paintings emerged from this intermediate space, born from observing the repetition that both precedes and follows mourning. Here, color is taken away. The promise of eternity is taken away. What remains is the flower in the very moment of being cast—blooming and dispersing at once, capturing the true form of a flower that could not be eternal.