The word TRUTH appears mid-composition, half-buried beneath layers of collaged texture, gestural paint, and shadow — visible but not quite free. Bold black geometric forms cut across the picture plane like barriers or redactions, while beneath and around them, a riot of lime, crimson, teal, and gold insists on being seen. Three small red butterflies navigate the chaos, each one a living thing that refuses containment. Rings of empty circles drift across the upper register like bubbles or unasked questions. The title is the confession: the cover-up is the subject, and the truth keeps surfacing anyway.