Here, love and hate, intimacy and detachment bleed into Crimson Strokes—Strokes of Red. A hue both sacred and profane, bearing the weight of incompatibles, questioning Good and Evil upon a canvas of black and white… or should I say, a t-shirt?

"If love is but an apparition of the mind, untethered from flesh… then might pain, too, hold a purpose beyond its sting? What if suffering is no wound, but a gift—one that tempers, like fire refining steel?"