- Year
- 2025
- Medium
- oil on canvas
- Size
- 30 × 36 in · 76 × 91 cm
I created it during those strange hours when night hasn't quite surrendered to morning, when your fingertips start to lose feeling from holding onto something too tightly for too long. There's a particular heaviness that comes with waiting for numbness—that moment when pain almost becomes a friend because at least it's familiar.
like the body's confused response to emotional frostbite. I wanted to capture that peculiar space where we're aware we're going numb but can still feel the last traces of sensation slipping away—the body's quiet rebellion against feeling too deeply.
This piece isn't about surrender. It's about that human instinct to protect ourselves when every nerve ending feels exposed. It's about how we sometimes turn the volume down on our hearts not because we want to, but because we need to catch our breath.
I've hidden small moments of unexpected light throughout the canvas—little reminders that numbness, like all states of being, is temporary. That even in our most disconnected moments, something inside us remains stubbornly awake, waiting for the thaw.
"Numb Yet?" isn't asking if you've finally escaped feeling. It's gently wondering if you've noticed how even the desire for numbness is proof that you're still wonderfully, painfully alive.