II. Illusions, Nov 2025
II. Illusions, Nov 2025
Scenes that twist the boundaries between memory and imagination, revealing alternate interpretations of the everyday.
Scenes that twist the boundaries between memory and imagination, revealing alternate interpretations of the everyday.
Stolen Memories
Stolen Memories
Digital Mixed Media, 2025 — Harris La Cross (Cyprus)
“I wanted to forget. I remember that much.”
At first, the forgetting felt like relief - a quieting of the noise, a soft fading of what hurt too much to hold.
But numbness does not obey. It does not stop where we ask it to.
Now the memories are gone, and I can’t remember what I wanted to escape. The loss is real - even if I cannot name it.
“I wanted to forget. I remember that much.”
At first, the forgetting felt like relief - a quieting of the noise, a soft fading of what hurt too much to hold.
But numbness does not obey. It does not stop where we ask it to.
Now the memories are gone, and I can’t remember what I wanted to escape. The loss is real - even if I cannot name it.
Bleeding Memories
Bleeding Memories
Digital Mixed Media, 2025 — Harris La Cross (Cyprus)
Digital Mixed Media, 2025 — Harris La Cross (Cyprus)
“Something is missing… but I can’t find what.”
The memories return now, but differently - blurred, distorted, changed by time and silence.
They feel both gentle and unbearable, like a ghost of something once important.
I reach for them, but they slip.
“Something is missing… but I can’t find what.”
The memories return now, but differently - blurred, distorted, changed by time and silence.
They feel both gentle and unbearable, like a ghost of something once important.
I reach for them, but they slip.
Near the Fire
Near the Fire
Digital Mixed Media, 2025 — Harris La Cross (Cyprus)
Digital Mixed Media, 2025
Harris La Cross (Cyprus)
“I know it’s cold.
But I prefer to pretend it’s not.”
Some realities are too harsh to look at directly.
So we build small warm corners - places where nothing has changed.
Where the world is still gentle,
where danger feels far away.
We hear the cries from the house next door.
We see lives being pushed out of their place.
We know it isn’t fair.
But stepping toward that truth,
means risking the fragile little warmth we have.
So we sit close to whatever heat is left,
even if it comes from a screen and not a fire.
Denial, sometimes, feels safer than knowing.
“I know it’s cold.
But I prefer to pretend it’s not.”
Some realities are too harsh to look at directly.
So we build small warm corners - places where nothing has changed.
Where the world is still gentle,
where danger feels far away.
We hear the cries from the house next door.
We see lives being pushed out of their place.
We know it isn’t fair.
But stepping toward that truth,
means risking the fragile little warmth we have.
So we sit close to whatever heat is left, even if it comes from a screen and not a fire.
Denial, sometimes, feels safer than knowing.
To the Unknown
To the Unknown
Digital Mixed Media, 2025 — Harris La Cross (Cyprus)
“If I stay here, I disappear. So I go.”
The unknown is frightening - of course it is. But staying still is its own kind of ending.
So we move, not with courage, but with a quiet instinct for self-preservation.
The sea does not promise safety, or meaning, or return. But it promises movement.
And sometimes, that is enough to continue living.
“If I stay here, I disappear. So I go.”
The unknown is frightening - of course it is. But staying still is its own kind of ending.
So we move, not with courage, but with a quiet instinct for self-preservation.
The sea does not promise safety, or meaning, or return. But it promises movement.
And sometimes, that is enough to continue living.
Where to?
Where to?
Digital Mixed Media, 2025 — Harris La Cross (Cyprus)
“You think it’s strange that I’m sitting on a mine, drifting into the unknown?”
“But watching children starve, presidents play emperors, and entire nations blaming children’s neurology on painkillers - that’s considered normal?”
A journey begins when the known becomes unbearable. Direction is secondary.
Escape is primary.
“You think it’s strange that I’m sitting on a mine, drifting into the unknown?”
“But watching children starve, presidents play emperors, and entire nations blaming children’s neurology on painkillers - that’s considered normal?”
A journey begins when the known becomes unbearable.
Direction is secondary.
Escape is primary.