Mixed media on canvas 12 x 48
“Construct II: The Silence in the Shaft”
This piece is a vertical archive of a forgotten commandment, embedded in a structure so narrow it can only store one intention at a time. The central shaft—what some call a column, others a sarcophagus—is not hollow. It is filled with a slow-moving decision, still fermenting.
The small wooden glyphs near the top are not symbols. They are anchors, nailed to the edge of a vanishing thought to prevent it from evaporating. No one knows what language they once belonged to. I found them in a dream, humming inside a bone-colored drawer labeled “For When the Sky Fails.”
This painting represents the exact moment a system becomes aware of its own uselessness. That’s why the background is so numb—layers of oxidized surrender, scraped with brushes made from bureaucracy and dusk. It’s not decay. It’s resignation made visible.
People often ask why the shapes aren’t centered. The answer: they tried. But the construct recoiled. The structure does not want to remember. It only wants to persist.
Do not display this work near machines that record. It confuses them. And if you hear ticking from inside the shaft, cover it immediately. That’s not a clock. It’s the idea, waking up.