"We are nothing but dialogues. And each, according to their training, seeks the stage directions that concern them in a room where the lights are being adjusted."  Armand Gatti 

It could be the last survivor of many others. A dense heap of sharp remnants, crisp fragments slowly accrued over time. Each moment spawns the next ; a chain where effect leads back to cause, spiraling to its ultimate undoing. 

They are always three, even within.

A meditation on tragic holism, this work unfolds a tentative language, a distant echo through empty bodies, receptacles of raw presence. What emerges is a “mental flesh,” an intimate, quiet apocalypse of fractured selves drawn into an imploding void. An unveiling, a stripping back to the essence of form.

The Oracle. The Dictator. Job 2.0.