"Gethsemane" Print inspired by Sleep Token
From the moment I first listened to Even in Arcadia, this song gripped something deep within me. Gethsemane rose above the rest, whispering its way into my chest until it demanded release.
This painting is that release.
It is where love bleeds and blooms.
Where devotion meets despair.
Where silence holds a scream.
Every brushstroke carries the ache of something sacred unraveling. This is not just a painting—it’s a wound with wings.
From the moment I first listened to Even in Arcadia, this song gripped something deep within me. Gethsemane rose above the rest, whispering its way into my chest until it demanded release.
This painting is that release.
It is where love bleeds and blooms.
Where devotion meets despair.
Where silence holds a scream.
Every brushstroke carries the ache of something sacred unraveling. This is not just a painting—it’s a wound with wings.
From the moment I first listened to Even in Arcadia, this song gripped something deep within me. Gethsemane rose above the rest, whispering its way into my chest until it demanded release.
This painting is that release.
It is where love bleeds and blooms.
Where devotion meets despair.
Where silence holds a scream.
Every brushstroke carries the ache of something sacred unraveling. This is not just a painting—it’s a wound with wings.