It’s the Stress that Grips Me, and Rips Me, that which Bleeds Me Dry Until I’m Empty

2021

graphite, watercolor, illustration pens, Faber-Castel pens, black and red India ink, gold leaf, and gesso

6x6in.

An elaboration on mental stress manifesting itself physically. Notice the machine wrapped around the figure like a jacket, a comforting embrace, just as the dialogue for self-expression and counseling has become generally more accepted. I say generally because in certain environments and communities, however appropriate, speaking about one’s stress is still frowned upon. The act itself is acceptable, but the specifics of an individuals worries are subjective. Meaning that if a person’s concerns are not that of the majority’s or seen from their point of view, it’s only negativity and pessimism. It’s by no means the duty of any group not dedicated to mental health to take on another’s stress. But this wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing dialogue of a welcoming and mentally healthy community for all while in actuality being a weighted blanket meant to smother just adds to the stress and repeats the cycle leading to physical illness and deterioration.