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I create reflections that are untouchable, manifestations of my longing
Beauty that does not exist in me, in my past or in my world
They are meant to radiate
Treasures found in a pirate’s chest
Cloudscapes of color meant to seduce, into this act of longing
On the surface, perfection personified
Classic icons of beauty—a twist of muscle, curl of bee-stung lips, all-knowing gaze
But I ask the viewer; can they be perfect if they come from me?
Their eyes reflect my sadness
Color drips down the paper like tears
I surround them with ornamentation, drawn benignly to mask my rage
Nature rises up to claim its stake, overlapping and enveloping its prey,
Adding their own superior beauty
Birds, flowers and menacing angels delight in their supremacy
And I am left with the question
Though we all long for perfection, can it actually exist?
This is the tension that resides in me
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