The picture I wanted so much to see was there before my eyes. The huge canvas occupied almost the entire wall. The blood red tones were the colour of clotted blood and decomposition. Despots, the kings of death, stand frozen in a dark and deep crypt around a sacrificial altar table. The kings enact an obscure rite – a funeral feast for themselves. The power is self-contained and helpless, having lost its sense and its purpose. It is a tradition of domination, which is also dying