Sun Eater. Acrylic on canvas 60 x 48
“The Slot of the Sun-Eater”
This painting was found etched on the inner wall of a well in a town that has since been erased from maps. The villagers spoke of a phenomenon called the Red Quiet, a time each decade when the sky turned the color of rusted blood and a single horizontal wound of light opened across their world like a silent scream.
They believed this slot of light was the mouth of an ancient being—part furnace, part memory—that consumed forgotten gods and spat out heatless suns. Those who stared at it too long would remember things they had never lived: the taste of fire before language, the hum of stars before gravity, the grief of atoms parting.
I painted this with ash from a violin burned during an eclipse, mixed with pigment ground from fossilized lightning. The yellow line is not paint—it appeared one night as I slept, humming faintly, like a chorus of insects speaking Latin in reverse.
To me, the slot is not a horizon or a division. It is a moment suspended between breath and oblivion. A scar on the flesh of time. A boundary between the unspeakable and the already forgotten.
Please do not hang this in direct sunlight. It feeds.