"Sabotage", hard pastels on toned paper
As life strikes. The sick glory, it turns into smoke. We were up there, above the mud. The hope, the purity, sometimes it all gets poisoned. Was it all a dream? Was it even necessary?
We lived as if time were unlimited when we thought that we owned it. We think that we understand, that we are entitled, that we have any control.
But yet we don't smile. Surface feelings, deep our heart is terrified.
When words are not enough, we draw. Canvas like the skin and pigment like dark blood. When words are not enough, we cry out and tighten our muscles in pain.
But is not relief from that pain that we look for. Far from that. It is a hurricane of reality. It is a storm of truth. It is a revelation, so sharp that it could kill.
Because no beauty can beat a human soul. And beauty, that's all that we're here for.
— Meanjin/Brisbane, 2022
