Chiron

The tragedy of Chiron, the centaur and teacher of heroes, was eternal suffering. Fatally wounded by a poisoned arrow, he could not die.
In the City of Ghosts, Chiron appears as two poor souls who, trying to keep warm, fused into one. From beneath a shared skin, only two pairs of legs emerge. They lie at the entrance to an underground passage. Faceless, voiceless, merged into a single creature driven mad by grief.
Our Chiron is not a hero but the city’s wound. He cannot die, and he cannot leave the concrete hell being buried alive above the ground.
This is the last of the three gray paintings of December. I leave it unfinished because it has to stay in 2025. It grinds against my teeth, and I no longer have the strength to live through this for yet another day.