Big Bang

Big Bang was born in the pressure of a life-altering winter—a season not only of cold, but of confrontation. It was during this time that I allowed someone from my past to temporarily share my space, even though I knew deep down our energies didn't align. Their presence became a symbolic weight—a lingering echo of a former self I was actively releasing. I had just begun turning my home into a temple of creativity, purging objects from my old life, reclaiming every room for art. But this decision tested my boundaries and nearly fractured the sanctuary I had fought so hard to build.

The drawing began while this energy was still present. I started with the lattice—drawn first in graphite, a quiet web of organic strands radiating outward, like the nervous system of the cosmos. Once the structure felt balanced, I traced over it with ink, locking in the form. I left the central space untouched—an eye-shaped opening waiting for its final identity.

Color came next, beginning with soft purples near the center. From there, I radiated outward in a delicate checkerboard rhythm: light purple, light blue, deeper blue, dark violet, red, and orange. Because of the lattice's intricacy, I had to search through the drawing for each opening where color belonged—like finding notes in a song I hadn't yet learned how to play. Once the chromatic energy was complete, I turned back to the lattice itself. I layered it carefully in light green and yellow, forming a kind of lime green glow. It was one of the most technically demanding steps—because the structure was so fine, I had to sharpen my pencils every few seconds just to keep the
color in line—a literal transmutation of negative energy into positive, through the act of devotion and creativity. Each stroke was a breath, a meditation, a quiet vow not to rush what needed care.

The background is built from thousands of tiny ink dots—stars born one by one—each mark a deliberate act of presence. Together, they represent not just the universe, but the
persistent voice of it, quietly pressing on the soul with questions:
Who are you? What are you doing here? What are you burning?

My signature in the upper left is formed by absence—it exists only where the ink does not. the same is true of the stars. They aren't drawn, but revealed —left untouched, like truth emerging from behind illusion.

Even my name hints at the true creator of this work: the unseen. The hand behind the hand. The breath behind the breath.

And finally, the eye. The center that had waited in stillness. I considered many forms—a blue and green iris, a large pupil, a glint of reflected light. But in the end, the shape revealed itself as a spiral: infinite, expanding with purpose, breathing like the universe itself. I was compelled to seek finer tools—a new 0.20mm pen—to finish the task. And in my persistent search tor perfection,
the spiral I Am—could finally—draw me—in.

As soon as the pen lifted—the final ink laid down—
inspiration struck me, the silence made a sound.
The secret work was finished, the inner shift begun,
and fire rose within me like the rising of the sun.

That very morning, I walked into my day job and declared to my boss: I'm taking a 10-day vacation—as soon as possible. Three days later, I was in the road.

The day before I left, I made my car as roadworthy as I could. That night, I entered sleep through thoughts of adventure swirling all around me. When I woke up from the deepest sleep—the deepest sleep I'd slept in weeks—I was the one in the driver's seat. I was the one disrupting my routine.
My first stop was for gas—just enough to leave the old behind. The second was the print shop, where I multiplied the seeds of a new frequency—ready to plant truth wherever they'd be received.

I gave those prints away wherever they felt aligned—skate shops dispensaries, truck stops along the line, gas stations, malls, even a tattoo shop. It wasn't about sales. But I'll admit—it was about promotion.
Not the kind that glorifies the self, but the kind that uplifts Source—the Creator moving through me, the current that called this work into being.
If even one person felt that signal and lit up because of it, that's enough.
Because one soul in alignment can inspire two... two can awaken four...
and the ripple carries far beyond what I'll ever see.
Along the way, I visited two sisters—one just north of L.A. the other who lives on a farm.
The road stretched out the pressure that had built for far too long.
It gave me space to breathe, to rest, and to remember who I was.

When I returned, I had the clarity to set a firm, loving boundary. I asked my house guest to honor
their original agreement and move on—gracefully, they did. And like that, my sanctuary was restored.

We all carry guests that overstay their welcome—old patterns, past identities, or people who no longer resonate with where we're headed. This piece was my way of remembering: I can draw the line with love, reclaim my space, and step fully into who I Am here to be.

Maybe you're holding something too—something quietly occupying space in your mind, your home, your spirit. This work asks: What are you ready to release? What would be restored if you did? And what part of you is still waiting to begin?