My self-portrait is a raw, unflinching expression of grief—grief that is messy, chaotic, with abstract swirling strokes. The paint is mixed and uncontained, smeared in a palette that bleeds sorrow: they cut through like memories too sharp to hold. There’s no structure, only emotion.
In the storm of color and feeling, only my eyes emerge—piercing, solumn, sad and resolute. They are the quiet center of the chaos, the part of you that still watches, still feels, still hopes. The rest of your face is buried in the disorder of loss, in the mess that grief makes of us when words are no longer enough.
The painting mourns my sister, but also has her energy in it - my closest friend, my mirror, my history. Her absence is everywhere. The strokes scream where my voice cannot. Yet even in the anguish, there is something else: a flicker of light at the edges, a glow of blue that suggests pain is not the end of the story. There is no neatness in this hope, but it is there—fragile, aching, real.
My self-portrait does not try to explain. It simply is. A witness to love and loss. A monument to what cannot be said.
For more watch this: Self Portrait - dealing with grief
https://youtu.be/mzT2bCuOY4E
Painting on Plywood.
Size: 24 x 36 x 0.3 inches
