Have no idea where this painting is going but I am definitely painting a hungry type of devil. Inspired by a journal entry: I have to let it go. I feel lost. I can move on. I said goodbye. I waved, criedand stepped forward. I know my future will have opportunities, but it’s too much and so overwhelming to choose which path is the right path. No more checks. My life is now. My life is this present moment. I am too stuck in the past. Am I losing myself? Am I not doing enough? And what am I not doing? I did way more hard work before. How did I do that? I don’t have the energy for that anymore. Am I not working because I have self doubt? Do I not trust myself? Have I lost my confidence? Am I too critical? I don’t know, but I feel like there’s something inside me that is hurting me. Stopping me. I feel like I can’t move forward anymore. I’m so tired. I thought it was such a big thing in my mind, and it wasn’t. It was just a house standing on land. But it wasn’t even a home that I knew because I didn’t even live there anymore. It had been rebuilt, and it wasn’t the same. Everything else was the same. I went to the bar. There were the same people, but no one recognised me, and I wanted it to be that way. I wanted them to recognise me, but hardly anyone did. The lady at the bar smiled. Maybe she did. One person came up to me, but I didn’t get any of the things that I thought I would any of the reactions, any of the trauma I had created. I feel like the past five years I’ve been living in the shadow of myself, which is a lie. This lie of an anxious person just being afraid to do things. But I’m not always afraid. In fact I’m quite brave.

At the @royalcollegeofart I made a painting about a smelly foot. Swipe.

Still screaming: contained in bulletproof glass Oil on canvas 2026 I’m inside a glass box. My arms and feet feel numb, and my legs tingling. I suddenly have this confidence that seems to have come out of nowhere. I can talk to people more easily. I don’t overthink or exaggerate their reactions and almost nothing feels like an offence anymore. I can feel the grass and see it clearly but as I get close it’s just a blur of green. It’s fake, unnatural but my brain tells me it’s true. Perhaps there is a window. A crack. I can’t reach the crack to my old self, my terbulent self. My broken self. The crack shines so brightly, as if it was mistaken for my broken life. I need to find a way out of the glass window that holds me and keeps me so numb. From the outside, I probably seem normal, maybe even more normal than I did before. But internally, it feels completely different. Everything is different. It’s like there’s another part of me trapped inside this glass box, within the glass box. The rage is still there. It hasn’t disappeared; it’s just been contained. It feels like something inside me is screaming and banging against the thick, bulletproof glass walls, trying to get out, while the rest of me is strangely calm and disconnected from it. It can see it screaming but it’s separated . The numbness won’t won’t let those emotions come out anymore. I can feel the anger and everything underneath it, but there’s a barrier between me and the expression and release. People sometimes describe this as putting a veil or cloud over you. For me, it feels more like a thin wall of glass has slowly appeared between me and everything I’m feeling. I can still see and understand the emotions on the other side, and I can still feel them inside me, but I can’t quite reach them anymore. Everything is still there there, and the anger is still there, but there’s something between us. A bulletproof wall of glass.

2.5 weeks at the @rca_painting @royalcollegeofart