It's like I'm seeing you for the first time

This is the face of a costly victory. The three eyes do not see more, they see through. Each one bleeds a luminous pink, not with injury, but with the visceral price of integrating a fractured self. This is the consequence of doing shadow work: the comforting lies are incinerated, leaving only the brilliant, burning truth.

The figure does not look upon a stranger, but upon a familiar ghost. They are seeing you for the first time, not because you have changed, but because the inner child they rescued from the dark has handed them the one weapon it possessed: the memory of your original, treacherous intent. The illumination from within is the light from that long-locked room being thrown open.

The hair is not a style, but a self-portrait. It is the artist’s own, copied from a childhood photograph—a direct line to the very inner child who survived the original betrayal. This is not a imagined figure, but the adult self, irrevocably fused with the child who knew the truth all along. The pink light bleeds because truth is not clean; it is a fluid, living thing that stains everything it touches, especially the one who wields it.

This is not a fantasy. It is the anatomy of awakening.

Acrylics on canvas
20" x 24 "