Fairy tales were never just for children. In fact, I’d argue they were never really for children at all. Before they were sweetened, censored, and sanitized, these stories were full of blood, resistance, despair, rebellion, and coded truth. They were warnings. Mirrors. Tools of survival. And sometimes, the only safe way to say what couldn’t be said.
That’s exactly what fascinates me about folklore and fairy tales — their power to hold political and social critique under the surface. This subversive quality is one of the deepest influences on my art.
Growing up with stories, I learned early that meaning often lives between the lines. The wolf isn’t just a wolf. The forest isn’t just a setting. The sleeping princess isn’t just asleep. These are metaphors for fear, oppression, desire, control, and awakening. And because they are wrapped in wonder and magic, they can slip past gatekeepers. They can survive where other truths might not.
Fairy tales are one of the oldest artistic languages we have for expressing resistance. In societies where censorship was severe, or where certain voices were silenced, stories became a Trojan horse — carrying radical critique in a disguise of myth. Kings and priests, gender roles and poverty, punishment and hope — all of these things were embedded in fantastical narratives. A tale about a cursed stepdaughter might really be about inheritance laws. A journey into the woods might be about coming of age under patriarchy. A magical mirror might reflect more than just beauty.
That’s the tradition I step into when I create art with mythic, folkloric, and dreamlike symbols. Not to escape reality — but to expose it differently.
Take my piece “SINNER”, for example. On the surface, it’s a portrait — surreal, symbolic, strangely still. But underneath it is a conversation about shame, defiance, and what happens when the world forces you into a role that was never yours to play. It speaks in archetypes because sometimes direct speech isn’t enough.
I’ve always been drawn to creating characters that feel like they’ve walked out of a forgotten folk tale — not the Disney kind, but the ones whispered in the dark, passed down with warning in their voice. And in those characters, I hide my own questions: What does it mean to be watched? What does it mean to break rules? To survive loneliness? To hide your voice? To reclaim it?
We still live in a world where speaking freely comes with consequences. For some, it’s public shame. For others, it’s violence or exile. So I understand why storytelling — especially visual storytelling — remains a refuge and a weapon. That’s what fairy tales taught us. That the truth, when dressed as fiction, might just make it through the forest alive.
In my blog post “Soft Scream: The Aesthetics of Silenced Emotion”, I explore how stillness and ambiguity can carry emotional charge. That’s the same energy I draw from folklore — the quiet, potent middle ground between silence and expression.
This is also why I often use color and symbols the way fairy tales use motifs. The color red isn’t just bold — it’s danger, desire, defiance. Flowers aren’t just beautiful — they’re boundaries, messengers, witnesses. Eyes aren’t just watching — they’re spells.
What I hope people feel when they look at my work is not just the aesthetic but the tension underneath. The story that isn’t fully told, but is somehow understood. The quiet rebellion hidden in the folds. Like the old fairy tales — if you know, you know.
Discover my collection of dark fairytale art prints & posters.
