There is a quiet kind of intensity in this body of work—one that doesn’t demand attention, but holds it anyway.
At the centre of the series is a face, stretched between control and collapse. Hands press in from every direction, not to comfort, but to contain. They pull, they cover, they distort—until expression itself begins to feel like a struggle.
“The paradox of restraint,” the artist reflects, “we try so hard to hold it all together, to keep the scream inside, but the pressure eventually becomes the art itself.”
And you can feel that pressure in every line.
Rendered entirely in shades of blue, the work leans into simplicity, yet nothing about it feels light. The colour deepens as you look closer—layered, emotional, almost overwhelming.
“Layers of blue, layers of emotion,” she says, describing a process that turns limitation into something expansive.
There is an intimacy here that feels almost intrusive.
The details—each crease of skin, each tension point, each widening of the eye—draw you in slowly. It is not just a visual experience; it is emotional. You begin to recognise something of yourself in it—the effort to stay composed, the quiet moments where everything feels just a little too much. “This drawing was a journey,” she explains, “into the finer details of expression and the anatomy of a scream.”
But this is not a loud scream.
It is the kind that lingers beneath the surface. The kind that lives in silence.
By the time you reach the final piece, you are no longer simply observing. You are immersed—caught somewhere between calm and chaos, between holding on and letting go.
“Drowning in the blue,” she calls it. And perhaps that is what makes the work so compelling. It doesn’t try to resolve the tension. It simply allows you to feel it.
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