Acrylic on Canvas
18×24
When I was in Paris, I saw a painting by Henre Guédon that stopped me in my tracks. It was visceral. It was painful. It was unforgettable. I stood in front of it for a long time, knowing I’d never carry the same weight it holds…but also knowing I couldn’t look away.
My piece is not a recreation. It’s a response. A reckoning. A reminder.
I will never know this pain firsthand, but I have a responsibility to work toward a world where no one has to carry it again.
Acrylic on Canvas
18×24
When I was in Paris, I saw a painting by Henre Guédon that stopped me in my tracks. It was visceral. It was painful. It was unforgettable. I stood in front of it for a long time, knowing I’d never carry the same weight it holds…but also knowing I couldn’t look away.
My piece is not a recreation. It’s a response. A reckoning. A reminder.
I will never know this pain firsthand, but I have a responsibility to work toward a world where no one has to carry it again.