the rising sun

There’s something unnerving and comforting, about how truth always finds its way to the surface.

I made this piece as an investigation into that: the ways we conceal, curate, polish ourselves until we gleam with plausible stories—but the earth underneath still breathes. The resin was never meant to disguise the fractures in the clay and sand—it was meant to cradle them, like amber catching a fossil mid-confession. The glossy surface might suggest modernity, composure, clarity.

But just beneath: sediment, unfiltered pigment, natural debris caught mid-fall. It looks like an accident. It wasn’t.

This piece is about conformity. About the makeup, the filters, the Sunday-best performance we wear to feel in control of the narrative. But clay doesn’t lie. Sand doesn’t smooth itself out. The materials remember what we try to forget.

Sometimes the rawness that leaks through reveals sweetness—childlike honesty, a bright innocence undimmed by damage. And sometimes, it reveals something else. A hunger to deceive. A cruelty tucked behind the well-lit mask. Either way, the truth is magnetic. It rises. Not for revenge, but because it simply cannot stay buried.

The rising sun burns through everything. Even the carefully constructed versions of ourselves. Especially those.