Despair weighs upon the head like a mountain that goes on forever without any end. As if the blackest of nights doesn’t offer enough terror considerably, from their deepest pits emerge phantoms that haunt the memory with familiar faces. Staring from beyond is a gaze so penetrating that it reveals an awareness of a silence broken from its solitary suffering. These vestigial traces form a network of affinity, like a web making one link to another, or a binding thread that cuts a shaft of light through the dark membrane of existence. Oozing from the source are pools and torrents of spectral medium whitened by the droning sound vibration that permeates to the core, unshackling bodies from the prison of living. A man stands next to the edge of an expansive abyss, dizzy he grabs a rail to hold on for his dear life, afraid that he might succumb to the seduction of a sudden termination and be part of that great divide. Another whirlpool of dark filament weaves into a display of torment, dissolving the body into a protest of pain, leering lines that eat the mind with paranoid delusions. It is a condition of inescapable agony for it is coming from the self, the point of origin that can’t be seen at the angle being stared from. The torment repeats, whirling around in frenzy, never cohering substantially, always unraveling towards its own demise. Notes, absent from their effective presence, hangs in the vacuum of their meaning, staring and waiting for a witness to this graveyard of empty signs.Sam Kiyoumarsi presents us with a series of images that signify the weaving of despair into monuments of anxious liberation, using the infinite wrap of the graphic mark to align with the depth of existence.