Gel transfer, graphite, paint, picture frame, mixed media on canvas; monumental scroll format
Circle Prayer functions as the emotional and theological rupture of the series—the moment where prayer collapses into a scream and belief is no longer symbolic but bodily, animal, and unstable. If earlier works negotiate iconography, trauma, and technological mythology, this piece breaks them open.
At thelow corner is your screaming face—not theatrical, not illustrative, but raw. It is not the scream of spectacle; it is the scream that happens after language fails. In the context of the series, this is crucial: words, doctrine, scripture, even programming code have already been dismantled. What remains is soundless but violent expression—an image that refuses interpretation before it demands witness.
The blindfolded Jesus introduces a devastating inversion. Traditionally, Christ sees all, suffers knowingly, and redeems through vision and sacrifice. Here, blindness is imposed. This suggests not divine withdrawal, but enforced ignorance—faith stripped of agency. It implicates institutions that claim moral authority while refusing to see suffering, particularly the suffering of women and children. This Jesus does not abandon humanity; humanity has blinded him.
The blindfolded Jesus introduces a devastating inversion. Traditionally, Christ sees all, suffers knowingly, and redeems through vision and sacrifice. Here, blindness is imposed. This suggests not divine withdrawal, but enforced ignorance—faith stripped of agency. It implicates institutions that claim moral authority while refusing to see suffering, particularly the suffering of women and children. This Jesus does not abandon humanity; humanity has blinded him.
The serpent, recurring throughout your work, reaches its most complex role here. It is no longer only temptation or rebellion—it becomes continuity. The serpent moves between scream and blindness, between woman and god, between flesh and myth. It is knowledge that survives suppression. Unlike Christ, it is not blindfolded. Unlike the woman, it does not scream. It remembers. In this way, the serpent becomes the carrier of truth across systems that repeatedly attempt to erase it.
Formally, the work is unstable by design. Fragmented bodies, broken alignment, and aggressive painterly gestures refuse compositional harmony. The circular graphite lines—echoing halos, wombs, targets, or orbits—suggest cycles that cannot be escaped: faith, violence, birth, control, repetition. The piece resists closure. Nothing resolves. Nothing redeems.



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