Tortured Artist

A series of portraits, a few bandages, and one shattered mirror. I know there is no dancing here, but I think she is still full of movement. She has a softness in her hands, a calmness in her posture. Searching her face for something human gets our eyes moving in a choreographed sort of way. For now, let’s all imagine she is just art; that she isn’t something to worry about. That she, in fact, is doing well, typing on her type writer, sipping on some sunshine, writing euphemisms until they make poetry of themselves. She is beautiful, isn’t she? Beautiful at a cost unbeknownst to us, and that is how it has always been, and how it will remain.