I scribble. Distilling anxious visions and thoughts into movements of my hand, I mark on the paper in waves of color and line– sometimes tranquil, sometimes violent, never still.
My work ebbs and flows, sometimes methodical and meticulous while other times frenetic. Imagery is painted, then scrubbed away with bleach, then painted again, then scrawled over– the pendulum swings between serenity and chaos, reflecting the duplicitous nature of the lived experience with anxiety. I never find myself
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