Plato's cave, built as a triptych retablo. At the center a hooded hermit bends over an open book. One page reads Turn it OFF, the next Draw a LINE, and from across the room the two collapse into a single declaration painted in red: OFF LINE. The mouth of the cave around him is shaped like a set of fangs.

Behind him, distraction and choice. A woman is entranced by her reflection in a mirror, a skull and books beside her. A man clings to a tablet and ignores the daylight coming in. A child with headphones looks straight out at us with the device switched off, which is the one hopeful gesture in the painting. Surveillance cameras watch from above, because even shadows are observed now. On the left wing Narcissus stares up at his glowing phone while Echo kneels on an Amazon box stamped with her name. On the right an old man stumbles out of the cave shielding his eyes, a flame above his head and a dog leading him, while overhead the sun dissolves into lines of code.

Closed, two women in grisaille mirror each other, one a pregnant mermaid holding a pixelated heart, the other a winged muse cradling a newborn who already grips a phone. Moon and sun, flesh and simulation. If escaping one cave only reveals another, how do we tell which one we are standing in?