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Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
30×40
The title comes from a Lexa Gates lyric, and the painting feels suspended in that same exhausted in-between state, not fully hopeless, but too drained to call it optimism either. The soft grays and washed-out whites blur together like days starting to repeat themselves, while the sharper strokes and small flashes of gold feel like brief moments of clarity trying to break through. To me, it feels like living on the edge of a dark period without completely falling into it. There’s still movement in the painting, still some spark underneath the heaviness. The brushwork stays loose and uneven, like someone trying to pull themselves forward while still carrying the weight of staying still for too long.
30×40
The title comes from a Lexa Gates lyric, and the painting feels suspended in that same exhausted in-between state, not fully hopeless, but too drained to call it optimism either. The soft grays and washed-out whites blur together like days starting to repeat themselves, while the sharper strokes and small flashes of gold feel like brief moments of clarity trying to break through. To me, it feels like living on the edge of a dark period without completely falling into it. There’s still movement in the painting, still some spark underneath the heaviness. The brushwork stays loose and uneven, like someone trying to pull themselves forward while still carrying the weight of staying still for too long.