Originally a 7.5 × 12-foot monster of a canvas, Bermuda Triangle consumed just under a thousand hours of studio time—about four months of daily grind and late-night second winds. Up close you can see entire micro-worlds in the brushwork: layered tides of cobalt, magenta riptides, and knife-edge whitecaps that break, reform, and disappear again. Step back and the chaos snaps into flow—you start to read the piece like a time-lapse of life itself, everything shifting, colliding, and realigning in a rhythm you didn’t notice was there.

The title isn’t a gimmick. What looks abstract at first keeps revealing half-submerged traces of Bermuda—sea-wall textures, bits of pastel architecture, even the faint grid of Front Street if you stare long enough. Alz calls it “memory leakage”: subconscious references surfacing only after the paint dries. During its six-month run at Black Walls Gallery the painting became something of a local legend; visitors returned just to find new details they’d missed the first time.