Found on a huge viaduct pillar in Genova, this image feels like someone took a marker and simply refused to stop. Fast horizontal lines, acid green washes, pale stripes, and one dark cut running through the surface like a shadow that arrived too late.

It is rough, direct, almost nervous.

The green has something unreal about it. Too fresh for concrete, too artificial for nature, somewhere between highlighter ink, traffic light, summer grass, and a mild visual warning. Then suddenly that dark purple-black line interrupts everything, dragging the image sideways and giving the whole surface a strange depth.

Nothing decorative in the traditional sense. Just speed, repetition, pressure, and colour behaving slightly out of control. A scribble made large enough to become landscape.

The viaduct setting makes it even better. Heavy concrete, traffic overhead, urban noise, and underneath it all this almost hallucinogenic field of green lines. Genova not exactly whispering.

On textile, the repetition becomes graphic and alive. The fine lines create rhythm, while the darker interruption keeps the print from becoming too clean.

A marker drawing with the confidence of a landscape and the patience of someone clearly having none.