In Security State

This piece does not wave the flag. It interrogates it.

Built on frayed cloth, scorched edges, newspaper transfers, bruised reds, loud blues, and a central black stencil figure that feels half-body, half-machine, the work turns American symbolism into evidence. The flag is not clean here because the country is not clean. The stars are stamped, repeated, almost overproduced; the stripes bleed downward like policy pretending to be patriotism. At the center, a figure raises what reads as camera, weapon, microphone, and surveillance arm all at once. That ambiguity matters. In Atlanta right now, “safety” is being sold as the headline, but visibility is the real product. The city is learning how to watch before it learns how to care.

So no, this isn’t a flag painting. It’s a systems painting. It asks what happens when Black movement, protest, grief, and daily life become data points under a national myth that still wants applause. The torn bottom feels like aftermath — city blocks, burn marks, interrupted testimony. America is in the frame, but so is the frame itself. That’s the accusation: who gets protected, who gets processed, and who gets watched? Not as metaphor, but material witness against the room right now.