Light Carves Its Own Cathedral From Dust I wanted to show an ember-violet nave of broken stained-glass panels: three towering dust pillars rim-lit in copper, a nacre-thin ionization veil curling away, hammered-copper shock ribs, and a black-glass rose window of bent starlight hovering above, all suspended in smoldering amethyst haze with midnight teal undertow. Here I ask what it means when children unmake their parent—how infant stars warm the cold and erase it, how time stratifies into amber sheets—so the viewer feels sacred silence and awe at scale while sensing the tenderness and heat of cosmic creation. VISUAL CLAIM: You will see copper-lit pillars dissolving into lace, soap-film veils, and a rose window of impossible glass refracting arcs of light across a mosaic-split sky. MEANING CLAIM: You will feel the sanctuary of vast quiet where warmth is an instrument of erasure and birth, and grasp—just at the edge—how scale and time exceed any frame.