We Were Always Holding the Other Hand

I wanted to stage the instant a tool reveals itself as anatomy: face, hand, and phone torn apart but bound by a single crystalline reflex. I chose hyper-cold paradox prisms to splice space while refracting warmth — terracotta and aged gold leaking through razor facets — so the viewer feels the ecstatic vertigo of a boundary that was never real. Look for the palimpsest region where residue, event, and scar overwrite each other; the portrait is not assembled, it is entangled, and the entanglement is you.