Across a canvas more than two meters wide, dark water heaves beneath a narrow pale sky. White crests appear and vanish inside sweeping black, blue, and green strokes. The title names sound, asking the visible surface to suggest a force that exceeds the frame.
Wu had long argued that formal beauty could carry feeling without a literary story. Roaring makes that claim physical. Its scale surrounds the viewer, but the brushwork never becomes anonymous spectacle: each turn is calibrated against the long horizon and the next interval of foam. Observation, memory, and gestural abstraction remain tightly connected.
