Part of the “Secret Codes” series, Turncoat transforms historical enigma into encrypted visual language. The piece draws inspiration from the 1953 death of Paul Emanuel Rubin, an 18-year-old chemistry student found near Philadelphia International Airport with cyanide poisoning. Taped to his body was a cryptic, typewritten message filled with invented words and references to Cold War figures—still unsolved to this day.

While not every item found on Rubin’s person appears in the composition, key symbols do. The airport code for Philadelphia International Airport “PHL” and chemical formula for potassium cyanide “KCN” serve as both identifiers and vessels, subtly embedded with fragments of Rubin’s original cipher. Within these fractured glyphs, language falters—and meaning slips just out of reach.

Behind the foreground lies a mirrored pattern derived from the linear abstraction of Philadelphia’s street grid. Stripped of names, context, and orientation, the map evokes psychological dislocation and systemic anonymity. It’s a visual metaphor for what Rubin may have felt—and what viewers feel now: the effort to navigate meaning in a landscape purposefully obscured.

A rendering of Rodin’s Thinker, present in Rubin’s pocket, appears here as a philosophical counterweight. Alongside 47 cents—also part of the found artifacts—it suggests isolation, dignity, and a final gesture of contemplation.

Yet despite its clues, Turncoat refuses full interpretation. Like the Rubin cipher itself, the piece resists resolution. It asks viewers to confront not only betrayal and secrecy, but the fragility of understanding in a world layered with codes.