In The Cross of New Creation, an ancient image is held within a world that seems to be breaking apart and beginning again at the same instant. The central presence remains suspended between these opposing conditions, neither absorbed by chaos nor untouched by it. Around this still point, space becomes unstable, as though creation itself has been divided into forces that cannot yet be reconciled.
Light emerges through this division with an ambiguous authority. It carries the possibility of renewal, yet nothing here suggests that renewal is gentle. Transformation appears inseparable from rupture; what is becoming cannot be detached from what must first be relinquished. The surrounding vastness gives the moment a scale beyond individual suffering, while the body restores to that immensity something intimate and mortal.
The title shifts the cross from an ending toward a threshold. New Creation suggests not restoration of what existed before, but the arrival of something for which no familiar form is adequate. Yet the work refuses to show what follows.
Perhaps its deepest tension lies there: between sacrifice and emergence, between a world dissolving and another not yet imaginable. At what point does destruction cease to be an ending and become the first condition of beginning?
