"Too Much, Too Long, Too Late"

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I painted it when I didn´t know what else to do with what I was feeling. 

 

It started out quietly-- but I couldn´t leave it alone. I kept going back into it, again and again, layering over what I thought was finished, covering parts that once made sense.

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The paint began to thicken-- like memory. Like the things I tried to forget but kept returning.

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At some point, I stopped trying to make it beautiful. I just needed it to be true.

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The surface became heavy-- overworked, even. And yet, that thickness, that insistence to keep going...

it holds something I couldn´t put into words. The act of painting it became a kind of processing. A way to sit with something too big, too tangled to express neatly.

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This painting wasn´t easy. But it´s honest.

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It holds the weight of everything I didn´t say in time.

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