Numquam Iterum
9x12
Ink on Paper
The story behind this piece:
She couldn’t tell you the moment the final blow was dealt. So many cuts, so many wounds in such a condensed amount of time, it’s hard to keep track. Oddly enough, she can tell you it was not when she learned of the first betrayal. Nor was it the second, third, fourth or fifth time. Perhaps it happened during the long, slow spiral into utter darkness that came when she left that life behind. A descent into a hazy landscape of pain and danger, desperation and loss. Somewhere in that murky mess, her heart did die.
The moon wept silver tears that poured upon her wrecked heart. But the energy of love never ceases to resuscitate. And so, her heart began to beat again, and a small flame flickered back to life.
Numquam Iterum. Never again.
But be careful, woman, that you don’t end up being the one turning the sword on yourself.
9x12
Ink on Paper
The story behind this piece:
She couldn’t tell you the moment the final blow was dealt. So many cuts, so many wounds in such a condensed amount of time, it’s hard to keep track. Oddly enough, she can tell you it was not when she learned of the first betrayal. Nor was it the second, third, fourth or fifth time. Perhaps it happened during the long, slow spiral into utter darkness that came when she left that life behind. A descent into a hazy landscape of pain and danger, desperation and loss. Somewhere in that murky mess, her heart did die.
The moon wept silver tears that poured upon her wrecked heart. But the energy of love never ceases to resuscitate. And so, her heart began to beat again, and a small flame flickered back to life.
Numquam Iterum. Never again.
But be careful, woman, that you don’t end up being the one turning the sword on yourself.
9x12
Ink on Paper
The story behind this piece:
She couldn’t tell you the moment the final blow was dealt. So many cuts, so many wounds in such a condensed amount of time, it’s hard to keep track. Oddly enough, she can tell you it was not when she learned of the first betrayal. Nor was it the second, third, fourth or fifth time. Perhaps it happened during the long, slow spiral into utter darkness that came when she left that life behind. A descent into a hazy landscape of pain and danger, desperation and loss. Somewhere in that murky mess, her heart did die.
The moon wept silver tears that poured upon her wrecked heart. But the energy of love never ceases to resuscitate. And so, her heart began to beat again, and a small flame flickered back to life.
Numquam Iterum. Never again.
But be careful, woman, that you don’t end up being the one turning the sword on yourself.