Opening Friday July 18th 2025 at 7:00PM

700 NW 4th st. OKC, OK on the West side of Muse

There are stories that are imagined, and there are stories that arrive unbidden—whispered in symbols, revealed through paintings, carved into the silence between waking and sleep. La Gospella Doalrae is one of the latter.

 

This is the third and final chapter of a prophetic arc that has quietly guided each of Traxler’s collections to date. It is not a story in the traditional sense. It is a gospella—a gospel-novella. A spiritual record delivered through creative vision, encoded with mythic truth, and rooted in the belief that art is a mirror through which we remember what we already know.

The first of these revelations was The Son Gazes Back at You (2023), a body of work born from a period of spiritual questioning and awakening. It dealt in opposites—light and shadow, male and female, sun and moon, spirit and matter. These paintings were contemplations of polarity and trinity, reflections on energy and essence. In that season, the artist stood at the beginning of understanding—sensing a hidden order in the universe but still reaching for language to name it.

 

The second transmission arrived like a flood. The Isle of View (2023/2024) told the next phase of the story—one of exile, survival, and sacred stewardship.

In this chapter, Earth undergoes a cataclysm. Whether natural or spiritual, it is a breaking point from which only a few survive—not through luck or wealth, but through spiritual readiness. These individuals are known as the Doalrae.

 

The Doalrae do not merely escape Earth—they depart the third dimension altogether, passing through a vast, chaotic body of water that exists between realms. After what feels like an endless crossing, they arrive at a distant land: a storm-bound island cloaked in mist and silence. This place is unlike any they have ever known. It is as if the Earth remembers itself here. As if time breathes differently. This is the Isle of View

 

At first, the isle appears barren. The sky is gray. The trees do not move. There are no birds, no voices, no wind. But in time, the Doalrae begin to see: the trees are not trees—they are beings. Tall, ancient, and alive with awareness. These anthropomorphic stewards of the land reveal that the isle has not always been so silent.

Long ago, it was the domain of angels—celestial entities appointed to care for the gateway between dimensions. For ages, they fulfilled this task with grace. But over time, pride crept in. The angels began to see themselves as rulers, not caretakers. They abandoned the isle, leaving it unguarded, protected only by storms and the memory of what once was.

 

The Doalrae are not told this story as history, but as prophecy. The tree-beings have long known that a group would arrive—souls strong enough to reclaim the island and prepare it for what is to come. The Doalrae are not just survivors. They are inheritors of a sacred task.

Time passes. Perhaps centuries. Perhaps more. The Doalrae learn to live with the land. They are taught the rhythms of the isle, the secrets of balance and restoration. Their light begins to grow. But then, as foretold, the angels return.

No longer the radiant beings they once were, they arrive with the intent to reclaim the isle—not in peace, but by force. What follows is not a war in the traditional sense. It is a conflict of essence, a clash of presence. 

The angels, hardened by absence and spiritual pride, carry with them a cold authority. The Doalrae, though fewer, are rooted now in humility and the living memory of the land.

The battle endures. Eventually, God intervenes—not in wrath, but in mercy. A sword is given to the Doalrae. It is not made of metal, but of truth, light, and divine will. With it, they shatter the Rock of the Gate, a massive spiritual threshold located at the heart of the Isle of You. This rock is the final barrier to higher dimensions of being—what some might call heaven.

 

But this act of breaking is not conquest. It is transformation. In giving the sword, God also gives a command: “Rebuild the Rock. Seal the Gate. Become its stewards.”

And so the Doalrae begin again—this time not as survivors or warriors, but as guardians of what lies beyond. From that moment forward, their task is clear: Prepare the isle. Prepare humanity. And hold the gate until all are ready to pass through.

 

But there is one more truth.

Not all angels fell in the battle. Some fled to Earth. There, they did not die. They changed. They calcified. They became embedded in the systems of the world—false gods, whispering through structures of power and fear. These fallen beings are known as archons—entities that manipulate human emotion, confusion, and illusion. They are not devils in the old sense. They are distractions. Addictions. Algorithms. Shame. Scarcity. Fame. Division. They work subtly, keeping humanity turned inward, downward, away from the gate.

 

And so, once again, the Doalrae return to Earth. This time, they do not arrive with swords or songs. They arrive disguised. To survive on Earth, they must cover themselves. Their eyes, mouths, and fingertips all emit light—too much light. To walk among the unaware, they must be hidden. But they do not come in silence, but rather to wage spiritual warfare on the fallen.

 

They come through culture. Through art. Through movement. Through unspoken knowing.

They find those among us who carry light.
They remind us who we are.
They whisper of a place we have forgotten.
They open a way back.

This final chapter—La Gospella Doalrae—is their gospel.

It records everything:
The genesis. The exile. The isle. The battle. The rock. The return.

It is the scripture of a future already unfolding.

And if you are reading this,
if you are standing among the works,
if something inside you stirs with memory or recognition—
then you, too, are part of this story.

You are not here by accident.

There is still time.