The painting paired with my Conjuring Hands painting is called "Serling & Nova."
In it, Serling is depicted young and in a bow tie, years before he becomes the figure people are more familiar with, holds out his top hat to his sister. Kumo, the two-leaf WeeBee, is already peeking out. Nova stares on unafraid and amazed.
This is the first painting where the siblings actually interact. Everything before this was Serling alone, or Nova alone, each carrying their own scene. Here they're just kids sharing a discovery. No performance. No audience but each other.
That distinction matters. The whole Conjure framework runs on two worlds, Inner and Outer. The inner World is located in the mind and top hat of the Serling Curious: sovereign, ungovernable, untouched by what's happening outside. The outer World is what happens when that imagination gets made visible, when it steps into the room and asks to be reckoned with.
Most of the show depicts the Outer World — signs, slogans, work built to be seen and to push back. "Serling & Nova" is pure Outer World. It's the moment before the myth, before the resistance framing, before any of it needed a reason to exist.
That's the point. Two black kids and a fictional creature made of cloud and leaves, staring into a hat together. This image doesn't need to argue for itself. It doesn't explain, justify, or perform anything for anyone outside the frame. It's not resistance art trying to prove black joy exists. It already exists. The painting just shows up and lets it.
That's what I mean when I say power in this work is inherent, not earned. Nova doesn't need a crown. Serling doesn't need a stage. They just need a hat, a WeeBee, and each other's attention.
The greatest nation in the world is imagination. This is what it looks like before it grows up and/or evolves.