The chaos of this piece does not begin at the edges; it detonates in the center. The massive numbers spanning the panels anchor the work in time, yet they hide a sinister alternative. The imagery hints that my reality was no longer right-side up; if the viewer were to shift their perspective—just as my world flipped—the numbers would reveal a much darker mark.

In the shadow of this inversion, the symbols of my faith are put on trial. I painted an atomic explosion of the cross—the cross I bore for years—shattering under the pressure of this new, inverted reality. The praying hands are present, clutching at the debris, but the piece forces the uncomfortable question: Does praying actually change things when the foundation has already fractured?

Floating through this wreckage is a dove, but its nature is ambiguous. In the light of my strict upbringing, it is the Holy Ghost. But in the context of the shadow lurking within the numbers, it transforms into something else—a ghost from hell, perhaps, or a spirit displaced by the blast.

This work documents that moment of uncertainty. It is a raw inquiry into whether the symbols that saved us in the past can survive when the perspective shifts and the "hood" realities take over.