This work of obscuring disrupts the landscapes, some of which are already composites of several source images. The tones and densities of ink merge land and water, cover horizon lines, streak and tumble across the frame. The effect is a reverting, toward something illegible, inchoate.

In the studio, Ms. Simpson called the glacial pieces “abstractions of landscapes.” She paused. “Maybe, in a particular way, they’re suggestions.”

The dark times, for Ms. Simpson, have been both private and collective. In the past year, she said, several people to whom she was close have passed away — most recently Mr. Enwezor, the celebrated and influential curator, who died in March at 55.

“There’s been a lot of death,” she said. “You go to the studio, and you’re like, ‘I don’t feel like doing anything today but crying.’ That kind of sadness. But I’ve learned that it’s so much better to push yourself and do work, and embrace that state.”

The other part of it is the political situation.

“It feels very much like living in the moment of fascism in the United States, that spreads and gives permission all over the world,” she said. “That permission it’s giving is very scary. In our safety, on an individual level, I feel it.”