There are things you believe you understand about yourself until life quietly proves otherwise. I thought I knew the architecture of my own desire. I did not. The heart makes its own decisions, in its own time, without consulting anyone.
And from that, an understanding that reaches beyond oneself. Longing is not chosen. It is discovered — sometimes inconveniently, sometimes against all expectation. To obstruct that discovery in another person, so long as they move through the world with care for others, is not morality. It is trespass.
This work grew from that understanding. It is large and simple — 750 laser cut hand-assembled pieces, 280 printed frames embedded on its surface, each one a frozen moment from the animation. A QR code that is also a painting, that is also a door.
When you scan it, the animation stirs to life. The Pink Pig, painted in revolving rainbow light, turns on a turntable — rotation folded within rotation. Then the work itself pivots, and slowly reveals what was hidden behind the code: color after color, each dissolving into the next, the whole spectrum in conversation with itself, until, unexpectedly, a rainbow forms that curves into a heart, and within that heart, quietly, an icon of inclusion.
Every color exists. Every color belongs. The spectrum is not a hierarchy — it is a conversation. And it ends, here, in the shape of a heart.
In the background of the physical work, written quietly around the points, runs the opening of Yeats’ The Second Coming — composed in 1919, in times of frightening change. He wrote that the center cannot hold. A hundred years later, that line has not loosened its grip. If anything, it has tightened.
This work holds both. The darkness of the poem, and the warm, bright heart that forms at the end of the animation — every color necessary, every absence felt by all. It was made against the narrowing — and in the belief that it matters which side you stand on.
