scars.
A Body of Work
The series of figurative portraits I’ve been painting over the past year have been weaving together a story.
One I didn’t choose to tell. But one that has emerged nonetheless.
Up to this point I haven’t indulged in attributing much meaning to my art. I’ve struggled greatly to find my voice. Preoccupied with color and composition. Value and proportion.
A few months ago when pressed to name this body of work I blurted out the word, “Scars”. As the word forced it’s way out of my mouth I immediately felt it’s essence. It’s meaning. Like a part of me couldn’t wait for my brain to verbalize what my hand had been painting all along.
Although I did not set out to create scars on my portraits I did set out to create imperfection. A rough, textured surface paves the way for the unexpected. A disheveled patchwork. An accidental discovery.
In the beginning it allowed me the freedom to make mistakes. My insecurity finding grace in the texture and marks.
For months I practiced painting these faces on canvas and in my art journal.
Eventually recognition took root as I realized these marks were actually scars.
Exposing tender wounds. Revealing invisible heartbreak. Uncovering raw distress.
Holding this tenderly in my hand I recognize myself and others. Scars revealing the depth of resilience required to live through and with our pain. Embedded with the companions of love. Hope. And joy.
Our growth comes not in focusing on these scars but in the acknowledgement of their existence. Their value and meaning stitching together all the parts of our selves.
This fresh perspective washes over me. Discernment and understanding within reach.
I now realize I painted what I could not say with words.
“The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.”