In both satire and lament, the Cataclysmus Cycle illustrates a series of sixteen scenes and characters from a fictional moment of apocalypse or immediate pre-apocalypse. Each image is accompanied by a caption, and the pairs form a very loose narrative about the disintegrating paradigm the characters inhabit. The hues and moods of the images are echoed heavily in the custom frames that hold them.

Storms mustered beneath Luna Tyrannus, and Cataclysmus descended.
The accidental became ritual.
Documentary swallowed memory, and the eyes failed at last.
The past murmured, snickered, bristled, shuddered, and snored without reprieve. At times it shuddered and quaked in self-loathing.
Guile there was, in spades.
Gold grew useless, but secrets were stolen away.
Even when its name was lost, despair trod among us.
A doughty few stood in the narrows and stalked the stalkers.
Oft we came in threes.
Pitch and rhythm eroded like dead earth. Still—music was made.
Flavor was not long remembered.
Joy and folly would not hold.
In the mirror I beheld Ichabod Crane.
Again we trusted to iron and scourged the sorcery of paper.
Some yet were wise, good, and fell.
At the utmost end, still there was hope in song.

Each image is held in a custom frame of poplar and rusted metal.

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