This piece talks about the helplessness we can feel against terrible things we cannot stop. It speaks to not having a voice, and the fury that creates inside us. Her hands are useless, and are disappearing, or never fully formed. She is filled with dying flowers, representing her aging, and how when beauty fades, so can women. Those of us who relied on our beauty to make a statement feel muted with the dusting of time.
Mixed Media on Paper
Charcoal, ink, pure pigment, and pencil
40″ x 42″