Romanticized notions and depictions of ‘hope’ often rely on flowery and lighthearted imagery: birds alighting on a frosty branch waiting for spring’s return, something like that.
In reality, hope is perhaps one of the most primal and gritty emotions one can experience as a human. Hope, at its core, is the idea that things can get better, that something in the future, near or far, is worth enduring the present.
I chose to depict the ‘heart’ of my hope as a literal anatomical art. The internal driving instinct to survive that is innate in all living creatures is, in and of itself, a form of hope. During this particular time in humanity’s existence, trying to hold onto to hope can feel like anything but isntinctual. Giving up feels more and more tempting with every day that goes by and every piece of legislation that gets passed. There days when every cell of my cell seems to scream ‘no more’ and yet, I am still here. Despite the colloquial odds and the actual statistics. Each beat of my heart is an act of resistance; each day I continue to draw breath is a slight against my oppressors.
