With her paring knife in hand, she set to work.
Alone in the bathroom she shared with her older sister, she expressed her pain in ribbons of deep red running down her arms and dripping onto the tiled floor.
Her writing on paper and painting on canvas helped ease the torment in their dark expressionism – but it was never enough.
She always felt the need to combine the two art forms into one…
To create a permanent masterpiece upon her own body.
She had not felt complete relief in so long… She had become convinced that it would never come.
There was no way to provide her with a different childhood, a different life.
So, she took matters into her own hands.
In secret, she published the pain – relishing the indelible impression it would make.
There was so much to say…
Yet so little space with which to tell her story.