Analog collage scanned converted to 4300x5375px., 2025
Layers, ripped edges, and mouths keep appearing even when I try to avoid them. These bars are mine. Over time, I shaped them into the place I return to without thinking.
There’s a quiet punk intensity here too. A reminder that even inside a prison you can choose disobedience, direction, and what your voice will be. The crest isn’t decorative. It’s a modest act of resistance, an homage to a culture and a decentralized spirit.
This is a letter from my mind. A confession about the style I can’t shake and the identity I keep rebuilding from behind my own walls.
