Art lives in endings and beginnings. Releasing weight I have carried: abuse, heartbreak, and addiction, without knowing why. I move through days feeling life pass in front of me, gathering fragments of memory with no explanation. In that uncertainty, I find meaning. These experiences became a language of destruction-for years, I spoke fluently in its dialect through pain and self-destruction. It's like the end and a new beginning. The "EXIT" is a question I've asked myself too many times. It represents the threshold between wanting to disappear and learning how to stay. It is confession and resurrection. Fragments, broken objects, splattered paint, and discarded materials mirror the remnants of my past. Every layer hides something I once tried to bury: guilt, longing, rage, love. The gold leaf among the chaos is my search for God, for meaning in the wreckage. In darkest places, divine shimmers through. Creation can be a form of worship when you've spent so long trying to destroy yourself.