Disintegrated

The collection on the wall is the result of inner feelings that has been flown to the bottom of my being for years. The inner feelings that neither could be expressed through language, nor through any medium but through drawing, therefore only in this way I could touch the deepest layers of my existence and weave the torn fabrics of my being. On the one hand, my drawings are the reflection of me, which tries to recognize itself, as the self-portrait reveals the connection between art and introspection in the most complete way, and on the other hand, are the schemas of women like me that aside from the gender, have common pains and sufferings and subdued words buried in the consciences for centuries of which neither did we speak nor did we complain. Because in fact it is our essence that does not leave the burden on its own. The undeniable femininity that weaves, sews, patches, gives life, while from within is rotten, depraved, and torn, like a cloth that bears the burden of thousands years of continuity.