One night, you, no matter who you are, artist, collector, ordinary soul, I mean all of us, as human beings. We have all known a hard season, a time of turning our anger only upon ourselves. Even knowing we are wounded, we keep pressing the pain deeper, down to the very bottom, until nothing remains that could hurt us, because we already lie in the deepest place, perhaps even befriending the bitterness itself. Wait, says the angel of death. He is grieving. He is furious. And he does not pour it outward. He sets himself ablaze. He is like a phoenix! Even the lord of the underworld withholds every torment he could offer, knowing this one has reached a depth where no more bitterness can be added. Everything must wait, even the search for another soul onto whom this bitterness might be cast. Until you befriend your own bitterness. It listens to you, watches your blaze, and holds back everything else so that nothing more is set alight. And the bitterness that has burned may no longer have any taste at all. Do not hesitate. Give voice to your sorrow, your solitude, your emptiness, and your rage. Burn yourself, so that nothing from the outside can burn you, nothing but your own fire. So that bitterness may honor you as it should. Tempus Doloris SWRKS | 2026