I’ve had an on and off fascination with the subject of women with faces concealed by flowers, and the topic of concealment in general. I like to approach the topic less from the angle of shame and deception, and more from a positive light- as protection, and as the guarding of something precious to you. My sketchbooks have had more of them in the past year.
Social media encourages the bleeding of social and personal barriers. I am a deeply private person, and my schizoaffective disorder exacerbates this. There are a lot of things about my life that I am reluctant to share with others for fear of reprisal, or of my words and intent being misunderstood, but I also long to share myself with others. My desire for safety from fear and shame is in conflict with my desire for connection. I’ve yet to reach a good balance.
I suppose this piece is about the desire to be understood, and the fear that there’s nothing inside to understand. I think it’s a fairly common desire, and a common fear.