Diagnose began as an emotional response to a loved one’s diagnosis. A very serious diagnosis that followed the very serious diagnosis of another loved one. It quite felt like I may end up the last one standing.
Acceptance felt like the only way to handle it – sometimes there is something we can do, sometimes there is not. Acceptance. Surrender. An assimilation, maybe. When a thing is just too big to deal with, the only way I know to deal is to dive in. You can’t run – it will outrun you. You can’t outwit, out swim, or outsmart the situation. What do you do?
You let the river take you under.
When I look at it now, I see only skeleton heads, busts of humans, and vile-faced demons, all twisted into a million different agonies, stacked and crammed into every nook and cranny of a crushed human mess. It takes on the gruesome appearance of decay itself having been painted on a soft, velvety skin.
I can barely look at it. It turns my stomach a bit. But I do hope YOU enjoy it!
What is interesting to me about this one is that as much as I don’t like it, it is one of the few pieces that hangs on the wall. And as disturbing as Diagnose is, it always seems to be relevant.