The scream

it is not a face- its a rupture 

A soul peeled back to its rawest frequency.

The figure is caught between the inhale and the scream,

but the sound is not for ears- its for the skin,

the stomach, the shadow that follows you home.

The sky itself is warped with grief.

This is not about what happened - but what couldn’t be stopped from happening again inside the body.

you don’t  hear this painting.

you remember it.

like something you've tried to forget.

The lines don’t describe a world- The betray it

and the figure isn’t screaming, WE ARE.

Acrylic on primed unstretch  18x22in 2024 New York by Jennifer Verdieu