Mixed Media on paper, ready to hang.
Signed on the front.
This artwork comes with an external frame
I had chicken pox quite late, which meant that when my sister finally gave them to me (around10?) I became deathly sick. I had chicken pox in my hair, in the inside *of my lungs* and even on the palms of my hands. Everywhere. I was a temporary leper.
After I got better I suddenly grew a red growth on the white of my right eye. My mother took me to the doctor who told me that I had a chicken pock on my eyeball because of the bad case I had of them and the red growth was the scar. My doctor told me that if I wanted they could cut it off but I would have to be conscious and they would literally need to stitch my eyeball up with dissolving stitches which would dissolve post-op in a matter of weeks. It scared the shit out of a young me.
As a teenager my eye growth would glow monster red when I was exhausted or high - which ended up being most of the time during. Teachers always felt super awkward asking me if I was stoned, even when I came to Business Maths reeking of weed because my eye was red all the time anyway. As a young actor I lost countless commercial jobs because my eye read as ‘I’m high af’ on screen. I don’t want to have the red spot cut away now. It’s a part of me. This piece is about mortality.