Only Memory and Longing
30 × 25 × 4 cm
Acrylic on canvas.
A woman stands with her back to us, facing into a dark, unsettled sky. Her face is hidden—not by accident, but by intention. You can only see the back of her head and the gentle line of her back. She is someone you once knew, or thought you did. Now, she’s changed. She’s elsewhere. The painting holds her at a distance—not just physically, but emotionally—capturing the feeling of someone who has slipped out of reach.
This work is about the quiet grief of losing someone over time—not to a single moment, but to change, to growing up, to the drift of years. You no longer know who they are, or what they’ve become. The absence of her face reflects that unknowability—you can only imagine her now. Philosopher Emmanuel Levinas speaks of the face as the site of ethical encounter, where the Other becomes real to us. When the face is turned away, that relation is broken, leaving only memory and longing in its place.
The paint itself carries that emotion. It drips down the surface like tears—uncontrolled, unresolved—mirroring the feeling of being unable to hold onto someone as they shift beyond you. The dark sky and wild clouds echo that inner weather: turbulent, tender, and full of longing. And yet, even in that distance, something of her remains.
Free shipping anywhere in the world.
30 × 25 × 4 cm
Acrylic on canvas.
A woman stands with her back to us, facing into a dark, unsettled sky. Her face is hidden—not by accident, but by intention. You can only see the back of her head and the gentle line of her back. She is someone you once knew, or thought you did. Now, she’s changed. She’s elsewhere. The painting holds her at a distance—not just physically, but emotionally—capturing the feeling of someone who has slipped out of reach.
This work is about the quiet grief of losing someone over time—not to a single moment, but to change, to growing up, to the drift of years. You no longer know who they are, or what they’ve become. The absence of her face reflects that unknowability—you can only imagine her now. Philosopher Emmanuel Levinas speaks of the face as the site of ethical encounter, where the Other becomes real to us. When the face is turned away, that relation is broken, leaving only memory and longing in its place.
The paint itself carries that emotion. It drips down the surface like tears—uncontrolled, unresolved—mirroring the feeling of being unable to hold onto someone as they shift beyond you. The dark sky and wild clouds echo that inner weather: turbulent, tender, and full of longing. And yet, even in that distance, something of her remains.
Free shipping anywhere in the world.
30 × 25 × 4 cm
Acrylic on canvas.
A woman stands with her back to us, facing into a dark, unsettled sky. Her face is hidden—not by accident, but by intention. You can only see the back of her head and the gentle line of her back. She is someone you once knew, or thought you did. Now, she’s changed. She’s elsewhere. The painting holds her at a distance—not just physically, but emotionally—capturing the feeling of someone who has slipped out of reach.
This work is about the quiet grief of losing someone over time—not to a single moment, but to change, to growing up, to the drift of years. You no longer know who they are, or what they’ve become. The absence of her face reflects that unknowability—you can only imagine her now. Philosopher Emmanuel Levinas speaks of the face as the site of ethical encounter, where the Other becomes real to us. When the face is turned away, that relation is broken, leaving only memory and longing in its place.
The paint itself carries that emotion. It drips down the surface like tears—uncontrolled, unresolved—mirroring the feeling of being unable to hold onto someone as they shift beyond you. The dark sky and wild clouds echo that inner weather: turbulent, tender, and full of longing. And yet, even in that distance, something of her remains.
Free shipping anywhere in the world.