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Fluid on my optic nerve threatened to blind me. I sought to turn the darkness into a black velvet blanket until the rage passed. It didn't. Under the blanket, doubtful memories surfaced. I painted them in flashes, barely touching, leaving no mark on the body.In the paintings, the taxidermy is an empty body bearing signs of violence, a false spectacle masking death with a fantasy of eternity. Peering into its glass eyes, I contemplate helplessness, avoidance, war. It draws out memories, wanting to look away, yet longing to show what happened, and still happens.Partial, digital, immaterial testimony lets me soften light, expose artifice, and color into validity