This self-portrait blurs the boundary between human and insect, presence and preservation. Set adrift in a fluid green void, the face emerges partially submerged, caught between being swallowed by or reborn through nature’s slow transformation. The moths symbolize vulnerability, silence, and death as they hover around and rest upon the figure, evoking a feeling of both spiritual guardianship and scientific detachment, like creatures pinned to memory. The portrait asks: what parts of ourselves do we preserve, and which dissolve when viewed through the gaze of others? Is this a metamorphosis, or a moment frozen just before?

At this point in my artistic journey, I felt lost and inadaptable, disconnected from my work, and frustrated with everything I created. That discomfort forced me to ask the hard questions: What do I really want from my art? What’s guiding me? What am I holding onto that no longer serves me, and how do I let it go? I felt a little like I was drowning. But when I scanned this painting into Photoshop, to learn the program, I began tinkering with it. And something shifted. My relationship with art was changing, and with it came a deep sense of relief. This piece became the result of that turning point, something that emerged only after I let go.