The Apostles

Beneath a bruised and endless sky, The Apostles kneel in the tall grass like relics forgotten by time. Their faces, masked, pale, and hollow, bear no human warmth, only the cold serenity of beings forged from starlight and doctrine. Each head is crowned not with gold, but with radiant wounds of light, halos burned into existence rather than bestowed. They lean toward one another in silent communion, bound by faith after language has failed, as if awaiting a revelation that will never arrive. Around them, the heavens glitter indifferently, and the earth listens. These are not saviors, nor angels, but witnesses; holy remnants of belief persisting long after God has withdrawn His gaze. This print is on heavy, glossy 68 lb paper.