LIES!

A long, lean stretch of red, this painting is a scar—a remnant of something scraped away, built up again, and scraped away once more, until the layers told their own story. The canvas, nearly three times as long as it is tall, suggests a horizon, but of what landscape? It glows with the warmth of an ember, the cool ache of a distant sun. Red upon red, scarlet chasing crimson, the surface is restless, textured, alive with its own contradictions.

The title, LIES!, announces itself like the opening chord of an old rock song—loud, unapologetic, a little bit insolent. But the longer you look, the quieter it gets, the more you begin to wonder: What lies beneath this red? What lies were painted over? And what lies have been left behind, hidden in the cracks and ridges of the gesso, the faint shadows of what came before? This is a painting of revisions, of impatience, of wanting to create something dazzling and true—and of realizing, in the end, that truth often comes only after a long parade of false starts.