Cult unfolds like a potentially poisonous envelope, with a steel shell protecting the work from the outside and the viewer from the inside. At first, this shell served to smother the flame – Dudek packed its wood interior with flammable orange powder, then lit the fire, letting it spit and smolder out inside of the metal chest. Now, the shell contains the wound, a charred crater at the innermost layer of the triptych. This depression is framed by two rectangles, sunk into the surface of the panel, referencing stadium terraces; it erupts with toxic spurts of colored medical tape, which travel and connect the three panels. Behind the crumbling softness at the heart of this traveling altar is a cold, black plate of galvanized steel. Opened, Cult takes the shape of a cross, faintly smelling of sulfur.