In Gita, the “barely sketched car” becomes an archetype of travel, a trace of presence rather than a depiction of an object. It is an imprint, a residual image, as if the landscape itself had recorded the passage of a fleeting moment — the journey reduced to a gesture, a contour softened by time. The car’s form, only faintly emerging from the material surface, mirrors Leotta’s interest in the way landscapes and objects absorb memory and emotion, becoming palimpsests of lived experience.

The surface, described as “fragrant – like wax or marzipan,” underscores the sensuality of Leotta’s approach: landscape as something tactile, edible, and intimate. In this sense, Gita is not about a literal voyage, but about the tenderness of recollection, the lingering sweetness of moments that have passed.