This circular assemblage evokes the logic of a clock while denying any sense of measured time. Instead of numbers, spent bullet casings mark its perimeter and internal divisions, transforming the familiar geometry of order into a system governed by violence. At the center, a fragmented triangular form disrupts the composition, suggesting instability and collapse rather than balance.
The surface is heavily textured, layered with thick pigments in red, green, yellow, and blue—colors that appear both symbolic and dissonant, refusing unity. The arrangement of cartridges radiating inward resembles both mechanical precision and ritual repetition, as if counting down toward an inevitable event. The “clock” does not indicate hours but tension. It becomes a metaphor for suspended catastrophe, where time is no longer neutral but charged with anticipation.