The Face Of My Soul: Unsaid

A figure stitched together by scratches, as if drawn and erased at the same time. The mouth is sealed not by silence, but by accumulation of thoughts, of words never released. The red is not violence. It is the small, undeniable proof that something inside is still alive. This piece is not about pain shown outwardly. It is about everything that stays in until it starts carving its own surface.