Here, transformation is not an event but a state. The skin becomes a site where memory, devotion, fear, and spectacle briefly settle before moving on. Nothing is fixed: gods look ordinary, ordinary people look mythic, and time folds in on itself.
What remains is neither mask nor truth, but something in between — an arrangement of signs that resists being read in a single direction. The surface holds contradictions: devotion and fatigue, spectacle and stillness, intimacy and distance. Meaning gathers briefly, then slips away.
