A portrait that flatters you, then strips you bare.
No eyes, no features—only symbols and a name: the cultural imprint that shapes you.
My characters drift through history on posters, photos, videos, book covers.
I swap faces, rewrite stories, bend reality as the ego swells and fractures.
In the XXY universe, identity becomes an echo, not a likeness.
The image pretends to be you, but reveals only what remains once everything else is erased.
Are you truly the one in the portrait—
or just another evolution of XXY?

