A scream can't be kept inside a frame forever. I painted this when I still believed sound was something invisible. Then I understood — sound has weight, sound has a body. Two faces, one is myself, and the other is who I was supposed to become. Or maybe it's just the same moment, happening twice. Those white pages from a diary? Letters I never sent? I only know they're leaving, the same way the face is leaving. As if everything decided, at once, to break out of the frame. Release isn't always beautiful. Sometimes it looks like collapse. The moment right before you realize you're free.