Collection: Echoes of Carnage

Echoes of Carnage is a trio of abstract prints that wrestle with the gut-wrenching question: When, if ever, is it right for folks in Kyiv, Moscow, or Brussels to ship off young guys to the meat grinder? Born from the raw footage and refugee tales since Russia's tanks rolled in back in February 2022, these pieces ditch the literal bombs and blood for a slyer stab—swirls of color that mimic the chaos without the carnage. It's like giving war a paintbrush instead of a bayonet: brutal, but with enough breathing room to let your mind fill in the blanks. 

First up, "Siren's Crimson Call" lures you with arterial reds bleeding into bruised purples, cracked by black veins like a skyline blowing apart. It's the seductive hum of those early invasion anthems clashing with wailing sirens—heroic from one screen, scripted from another, and just a policy footnote from the third. Then "Phantom Harvest" twists golden fields into toxic greens and jaundiced yellows, with sneaky tendrils pulling strings like puppet-master propaganda. Picture Donbas dirt turned to abstract confetti, a wry nod to how leaders tally wins while the ground swallows stories whole. Rounding it out, "Brussels Blue Void" stares back with an indigo black hole flecked in fading blues—turquoise hinting at breached borders and endless EU chit-chat. It's the diplomatic shrug that turns lives into line items, empty enough to echo your own "what now?"

Hang these bad boys solo or as a triptych, and they'll turn any wall into a quiet provocateur. No sermons, just colors that clash like coalitions and shapes that fracture like fragile peace talks. I'm betting art's the one weapon that doesn't backfire—sharp enough to cut through the noise, witty enough to make you smirk at the madness.