Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Some images don't leave you.
For years, The Fallen Angel has stayed with me. I never saw it as a symbol of evil or punishment. I saw something else—a face carrying unbearable sadness, longing, and the quiet weight of existing.
I recognized myself in that gaze.
There were moments when I felt disconnected from who I was, questioning my worth, carrying emotions I didn't know how to express. Like the figure in the painting, I experienced what it meant to fall—not as failure, but as the loss of certainty, innocence, and the version of myself I thought I had to be.
Creating this piece was never about recreating a masterpiece.
It was about honoring what it awakened in me.
It reminds me that every fall changes us, but it doesn't define us. Sometimes the deepest transformations begin only after we've stopped trying to hide our wounds.
This work is my conversation with an image that has silently accompanied me for years, and with the person I became because of it.
Some images don't leave you.
For years, The Fallen Angel has stayed with me. I never saw it as a symbol of evil or punishment. I saw something else—a face carrying unbearable sadness, longing, and the quiet weight of existing.
I recognized myself in that gaze.
There were moments when I felt disconnected from who I was, questioning my worth, carrying emotions I didn't know how to express. Like the figure in the painting, I experienced what it meant to fall—not as failure, but as the loss of certainty, innocence, and the version of myself I thought I had to be.
Creating this piece was never about recreating a masterpiece.
It was about honoring what it awakened in me.
It reminds me that every fall changes us, but it doesn't define us. Sometimes the deepest transformations begin only after we've stopped trying to hide our wounds.
This work is my conversation with an image that has silently accompanied me for years, and with the person I became because of it.