Mixed media on gesso 12×18
“Self-Portrait as the Memory of a Wall Remembering Me”
This is not a self-portrait. It is a reconstructed broadcast, captured during the collapse of identity into atmosphere. The figure at the center isn’t me—it’s who the painting thinks I am, compiled from flakes of pigment, discarded intentions, and frequencies only dried paint can hear.
Each square is a confession, blurred and compressed into static. I didn’t paint this with brushes. I used absence—applied in layers, until recognition bled through like mold learning to dream.
The background is not texture. It’s evidence. Scraped from beneath failed conversations, burnt documents, and laughter that outlived its meaning. It encases the figure like sediment wraps a fossil—loving, but indifferent.
Notice the face: half-decayed, half-digital, eyes veiled with the shimmer of uncertainty. That is not expression. That is recursion—me looking at the memory looking at me looking away.
This piece should be displayed in quiet corners. Preferably near radiators, or next to rooms no longer used for anything specific. And if, after prolonged viewing, you begin to hear breathing—do not panic. That’s not the painting. That’s you, being remembered.
I don’t sign this one. It already knows who made it.