STILL. LIFE.

About the Collection

Still. Life. is an emotional and intellectual passage through concealment, struggle, growth, and eventual retreat — not in defeat, but in fulfillment. This series of nine mixed-media portraits is a spiraling reflection on identity, shaped by pressure, time, and cycles of blooming and withering.

The journey begins in withdrawal: a reclining figure leans back, face obscured by their own body — a literal refusal of the gaze. The viewer is kept at a distance. In the next painting, a hand rests atop a bowed head, gently hiding it from us, both shielding and claiming. Then, in a gust of wind, a woman’s eyes are obscured by her own hair and scarf — movement without freedom. These early portraits are not about visibility but resistance: of being seen, of being defined, of being fixed.

But this resistance softens. The fourth painting offers a still, blue pause — a quiet figure in contemplation, where a small flower begins to bloom. This moment marks a shift in the emotional atmosphere. Here, a sense of self begins to emerge — not boldly, but tentatively, and only partially. What follows is a study in symbolic maturity.

The fifth work, drawn in colored pencil, shows us a full face at last. But it’s hollow, vessel-like — more like a ceramic planter than a living person. The sixth painting introduces levity: a skeleton in thought, surrounded by greenery, contemplative and wry. Growth, now literal, has entered the frame. From here, botanical motifs take over.

In the seventh piece, a headless figure cradles a thriving plant, while a dry, twisted tree trunk emerges from the neck. The subject is no longer the seeker, but the mentor — the one who supports, who cultivates others. It’s an allegory of scientific work, where one’s labor often blooms most beautifully in someone else’s hands.

The eighth painting is ceremonial: a crowned skull, regal and still, silent but radiant with achievement. And finally, we end in shadow — a heavily textured portrait with a flower on the head, receding into darkness. It is not a disappearance, but a chosen retreat, having left a legacy behind. The occlusion returns, but now it carries grace.

Each piece in Still. Life. grapples with identity through what is seen and hidden, held and released. Faces disappear, reappear, and dissolve again — not to suggest loss, but to honor the transience of all selves: the apprentice, the thinker, the teacher, the witness. The still life, here, is not just an object of contemplation — it is a life that pauses long enough to be seen.