Broken
Holes are whole emptiness,
and soreness of my eyes reflects
my interior
The patched canvas is covered with many layers of paper—peeling off and repaired, adjusted, rearranged—with the grieving figure in the center caught in the moment. The beeswax reminds me of the church candles used in Orthodox churches during mourning rituals. The lone figure’s gaze is directed downward. Unable to hold the tears, her eyes overflow and release a sticky, murky waterfall of waxy goo.