Serenity

Serenity is a lie I needed to believe the day I made this.
It’s not calm. It’s not peaceful. It’s a portrait of implosion—the moment when pressure outpaces composure and the only thing left to do is fucking scream.

This self-portrait wasn’t planned. It was captured in the storm. The kind of day where you don’t even remember what set you off, just that you were drowning in it. The fear. The anger. The impostor syndrome. The noise between your ears that says you’re not enough, even when the world tells you otherwise.

And yet, layered within the chaos—watercolour swells, fractured light, the word serenity hiding in the storm, there’s something else: release.

Maybe serenity isn’t peace and quiet. Maybe it’s finally letting the monster out so it stops clawing at your ribcage.

This piece is the counterweight to all the composed creative identities.
It’s the rupture. The howl. The art that shows what most artists hide.