My connection with art has recently evolved into a toxic relationship, a reflection of the ongoing battles with my mental health. What once was a fluid, unstoppable river of creativity—a channel to expel unwanted emotions—has now become an industrialized dam, holding back a tumultuous sea of feelings, while barren, dry lands stretch ahead. This struggle to create art mirrors the struggle to navigate my own mind, with creativity often stifled by the weight of my emotions.

The constant bombardment of injustices and tragedies from the outside world, filtered through the lens of social media, serves as a relentless source of inspiration. These images and stories assault my psyche, and my inability to emotionally process them only amplifies the frustration. I fight to harness these intense feelings into something tangible, often overwhelmed by the sheer volume of noise. In the end, the images that come to life are those that burn the most intensely—those that refuse to be ignored. They are fragments of raw emotion, sharp and painful, like the image of a mother weeping over the loss of her child or the distorted reflection of the self through an ill lens.

The struggle itself adds to the weight and significance of the art I create. Each piece becomes a hard-won victory—a testament to resilience in the face of overwhelming emotions. There is beauty in the fight, in the process of taking something deeply painful and transmuting it into a visual representation. The struggle to finish a piece, to bring it into being despite my inner turmoil, enhances its power. In that sense, my art is not only about creation but about survival, expression, and ultimately healing—an imperfect, but deeply meaningful, journey.