Eyes have always been more than organs of sight. In art, they are thresholds — between self and other, inner and outer, visible and hidden. The eye doesn’t just see; it defines what is seen. It grants power, intimacy, vulnerability, and judgment all at once.
From ancient myths to modern surrealism, artists have used eyes to question the act of perception itself. To paint or sculpt an eye is to explore what it means to be aware — and what it means to be seen.
The Eye as Ancient Symbol
In mythology, the eye has always been both divine and dangerous. The Eye of Horus in Egypt protected against evil. The Greek gaze of Medusa turned men to stone — vision as punishment. The Christian iconography of the all-seeing eye placed it within a triangle of light, representing omniscience.
Across these symbols, the eye held two contradictory powers: to protect and to control. To see was to know — and to know was to possess.
This tension continues in contemporary art. The presence of eyes in a composition creates unease because they invert the viewer’s role. The observer becomes the observed. The artwork watches back.
Vision as Emotion
Psychologically, vision is tied not only to cognition but to emotion. We don’t see objectively; we project. Our perception filters through fear, desire, and memory. The same image can feel tender or threatening depending on who looks and why.
In original paintings filled with eyes — whether scattered like blossoms or hidden in surreal shapes — this psychology becomes tangible. The gaze becomes a landscape. Every pupil, every reflection, is a fragment of attention. Some eyes confront the viewer; others drift inward, suggesting introspection or loss.
To fill a canvas with eyes is not a gesture of voyeurism but of empathy. It’s an attempt to map the act of feeling through sight — to turn awareness into a visual rhythm.
Power, Control, and Vulnerability
The power dynamics of looking have always fascinated artists. Who gets to look, and who is looked at? In portraiture, the gaze often defines status: the confident subject looks outward; the anonymous one averts their eyes.
In modern and surreal art, this balance begins to collapse. Eyes float free from bodies, scattered like thoughts. They no longer belong to a single face; they become collective perception — fragments of consciousness observing themselves.
This detachment reveals a paradox: to see everything can also mean to lose focus. The eye that sees too much risks blindness through excess. Vision, in this sense, becomes both a tool of control and a confession of fragility.
When I paint eyes, I think of them as mirrors that refuse to stay still — symbols of both awareness and exposure. They hold attention but also surrender it.
The Uncanny Gaze
There is something inherently uncanny about eyes detached from their context. They hover between the animate and the symbolic. Freud described this discomfort as das Unheimliche — the unhomely, the familiar made strange.
Surrealism embraced this feeling, turning the gaze into a poetic disturbance. In many surreal works, eyes float among flowers, metals, or cosmic textures — observing yet not belonging. They represent the psyche itself: open, vulnerable, endlessly watching.
This imagery resonates with contemporary psychology. The eye, as metaphor, embodies our constant exposure — to media, to others, to ourselves. We live in a culture of visibility, where everything can be seen, yet true perception remains rare.
The repetition of eyes in art becomes resistance: a reclaiming of the act of looking.
Vision as Connection
In many of my works, eyes intertwine with botanical and symbolic forms — petals becoming lashes, roots turning into veins. I’m drawn to this merging of organic and perceptual. Vision, for me, is not only an act of intellect but of emotion — a soft power that connects rather than dominates.
An eye surrounded by flowers becomes a symbol of sensitivity, not surveillance. It suggests empathy through awareness, perception as care. The metallic shine or reflective surface transforms it into something alive — seeing and being seen at once.
In interiors, such paintings shift atmosphere. They seem to listen as much as they observe, creating a dialogue between space and self.
Eyes in art remind us that to see is never passive. It’s participation, projection, and interpretation. Whether sacred, surreal, or psychological, the gaze continues to define how we relate — to beauty, to others, to truth itself.
Vision is not just a sense; it’s an emotion. And in every painted eye, there’s both a question and a reflection: what do we see — and what in turn sees us?
