In the year of 2017, I began to create art around the two most significant men that shaped the tumultuous experiences from 2015 to where I am today.
I didn't think of myself as an artist until recently. In the midst of ingrained stoicism, the origins of which I am unsure, I didn't know how else to express myself. Art became a meditative exercise for me on those nights of me ugly-crying, alone, in my bed. It allowed me to have the conversations with myself and with the others that I didn't know how to.
The one who stands polar to everything that I promised myself I would never allow again. The one that blindsided me because I didn't know I had this capacity to feel. The one who I loved but who couldn't love me back. The one who I don't really understand if it was the man, or just the idea.