Shedding in the Desert, 61cm x 46cm
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Acrylic on canvas*, 61cm tall by 46cm wide.
Looking back on this piece, I would paint it very differently now, but it itself was painted and repainted dozens of times during its creation. A self portrait from 2022, age 35, the year I nearly died after being diagnosed with an incredibly rare, life threatening illness, Stevens Johnson Syndrome.
The illness is a gruesome battle with the mind, which has tricked the body into believing it is under attack. The result is the complete outside and much of the inside of the body boiling, burning itself, peeling off, and if you are lucky enough to survive, growing back.
I am one such survivor, though much of me died while spending nearly a month in the ICU and burn unit in Las Vegas. I was traveling across the country on a road trip when diagnosed, an allergic reaction to a new prescription drug. I now have an aversion to most Western medicine, and a deep appreciation for my body’s healing abilities.
The painting shows myself, looking forward, hopeful, into the unknown, pushed by the wind, or Spirit. Behind me I leave behind the literal and metaphorical desert, like a snake who shed its skin. Calendar days float past me, signifying time spent in the nightmare.
I believe the part of me that died is the part that felt life was a cruel joke. In a painful flash, I learned how beautiful a gift life really is.
The following quote is from a play I wrote in iambic pentameter between 2018 and 2022 which I later transcribed into a feature screenplay and have since filmed a proof of concept for. The story is called The Girl Who Drowns, and the protagonist, Ophelia, has an existential realization that she is a character in a play who is doomed to die. She discovers the paradoxical epiphany that many of us do; life implies death, and death implies life.
In the play, Ophelia is the literary, theatrical archetype of myself, in whose lines I inadvertently prophesied that I would not be able to be killed by fire, but if I were to suffer an early death, it would have to be by way of drowning.
“Were it simpler to make a dust my flesh I’d already be scorched and sent most high, But when the fire doth creep and dance within, A girl must drown her incalescence And cease to swim. Or float. Of this I know. What is it we are missing in this realm? For love and fear to play such powerful foes, For man to seek prehension at first glance Of knowledge and enlightenment it begs, To chase the purpose, or to drown in doubt.”
*This painting is unframed, arriving carefully rolled for safety, qualifying it for FREE worldwide shipping.
Free worldwide shipping
Acrylic on canvas*, 61cm tall by 46cm wide.
Looking back on this piece, I would paint it very differently now, but it itself was painted and repainted dozens of times during its creation. A self portrait from 2022, age 35, the year I nearly died after being diagnosed with an incredibly rare, life threatening illness, Stevens Johnson Syndrome.
The illness is a gruesome battle with the mind, which has tricked the body into believing it is under attack. The result is the complete outside and much of the inside of the body boiling, burning itself, peeling off, and if you are lucky enough to survive, growing back.
I am one such survivor, though much of me died while spending nearly a month in the ICU and burn unit in Las Vegas. I was traveling across the country on a road trip when diagnosed, an allergic reaction to a new prescription drug. I now have an aversion to most Western medicine, and a deep appreciation for my body’s healing abilities.
The painting shows myself, looking forward, hopeful, into the unknown, pushed by the wind, or Spirit. Behind me I leave behind the literal and metaphorical desert, like a snake who shed its skin. Calendar days float past me, signifying time spent in the nightmare.
I believe the part of me that died is the part that felt life was a cruel joke. In a painful flash, I learned how beautiful a gift life really is.
The following quote is from a play I wrote in iambic pentameter between 2018 and 2022 which I later transcribed into a feature screenplay and have since filmed a proof of concept for. The story is called The Girl Who Drowns, and the protagonist, Ophelia, has an existential realization that she is a character in a play who is doomed to die. She discovers the paradoxical epiphany that many of us do; life implies death, and death implies life.
In the play, Ophelia is the literary, theatrical archetype of myself, in whose lines I inadvertently prophesied that I would not be able to be killed by fire, but if I were to suffer an early death, it would have to be by way of drowning.
“Were it simpler to make a dust my flesh I’d already be scorched and sent most high, But when the fire doth creep and dance within, A girl must drown her incalescence And cease to swim. Or float. Of this I know. What is it we are missing in this realm? For love and fear to play such powerful foes, For man to seek prehension at first glance Of knowledge and enlightenment it begs, To chase the purpose, or to drown in doubt.”
*This painting is unframed, arriving carefully rolled for safety, qualifying it for FREE worldwide shipping.
Free worldwide shipping
Acrylic on canvas*, 61cm tall by 46cm wide.
Looking back on this piece, I would paint it very differently now, but it itself was painted and repainted dozens of times during its creation. A self portrait from 2022, age 35, the year I nearly died after being diagnosed with an incredibly rare, life threatening illness, Stevens Johnson Syndrome.
The illness is a gruesome battle with the mind, which has tricked the body into believing it is under attack. The result is the complete outside and much of the inside of the body boiling, burning itself, peeling off, and if you are lucky enough to survive, growing back.
I am one such survivor, though much of me died while spending nearly a month in the ICU and burn unit in Las Vegas. I was traveling across the country on a road trip when diagnosed, an allergic reaction to a new prescription drug. I now have an aversion to most Western medicine, and a deep appreciation for my body’s healing abilities.
The painting shows myself, looking forward, hopeful, into the unknown, pushed by the wind, or Spirit. Behind me I leave behind the literal and metaphorical desert, like a snake who shed its skin. Calendar days float past me, signifying time spent in the nightmare.
I believe the part of me that died is the part that felt life was a cruel joke. In a painful flash, I learned how beautiful a gift life really is.
The following quote is from a play I wrote in iambic pentameter between 2018 and 2022 which I later transcribed into a feature screenplay and have since filmed a proof of concept for. The story is called The Girl Who Drowns, and the protagonist, Ophelia, has an existential realization that she is a character in a play who is doomed to die. She discovers the paradoxical epiphany that many of us do; life implies death, and death implies life.
In the play, Ophelia is the literary, theatrical archetype of myself, in whose lines I inadvertently prophesied that I would not be able to be killed by fire, but if I were to suffer an early death, it would have to be by way of drowning.
“Were it simpler to make a dust my flesh I’d already be scorched and sent most high, But when the fire doth creep and dance within, A girl must drown her incalescence And cease to swim. Or float. Of this I know. What is it we are missing in this realm? For love and fear to play such powerful foes, For man to seek prehension at first glance Of knowledge and enlightenment it begs, To chase the purpose, or to drown in doubt.”
*This painting is unframed, arriving carefully rolled for safety, qualifying it for FREE worldwide shipping.