The bright red on this metal is from years of rust; the puncture-wounds from ripped-out rivets: still, I couldn't help but see it in another, far more macabre way. It reminded me of a murder scene from a low-grade horror film, made all the more thrilling with the body missing.
I composed the little scene haphazardly and aggressively, filling the frame with cascading blood-red; punctured, cut metal; cracked, diseased white paint. The rust spirals and cascades, flowing freely, and the backlighting streams through the metal's wounds like a projector in a smoky movie theatre. There is shadow, and harsh light, and a sense of delicious, spine-curling drama.
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