I drawn Mirage in a moment of intense overwhelm — not just by darkness, but also by light.
It was a strange, almost disorienting duality: the weight of shadows pressing in, yet at the same time, a flood of images, emotions, and stimuli that felt blinding in their intensity. Too much silence, too much noise. Too many questions and not enough space to feel the answers. That’s where Mirage came from — an artwork about clarity so sharp it becomes distortion. About the pressure to see everything while understanding very little.
At the center of Mirage are two surreal, fluorescent green eyes. They’re wide open — expressive, emotional, all-consuming. And yet, the very openness of those eyes evokes a different kind of blindness: one that’s spiritual rather than physical. We often equate open eyes with awareness, with control. But in my experience, moments of truth rarely come through vision alone. Sometimes they come through your gut, your skin, the small intuitive voices we’re taught to suppress.
The eyes in Mirage aren’t just about looking. They’re about feeling overwhelmed by the act of seeing. There’s a point when you see too much — too many truths, contradictions, emotional cues, and digital flashes — and the result is not clarity, but confusion. And in that confusion, it becomes necessary to close your eyes… and sense your way forward.
That’s where the flowers come in.
The floral motifs in this piece aren’t decorative. They represent the senses beyond sight. The way you smell someone’s skin and remember a whole lifetime. The way sound enters your body and reverberates somewhere deep. The way you walk into a room and feel something shift, even before you register what you’re seeing.
When I was drawing Mirage, I found myself reflecting on how much we miss when we rely solely on vision. We live in a culture of hyper-visuality — especially as artists. Everything is about aesthetic, branding, curation. But I wanted to challenge that. I wanted to create a piece that asks, what if vision isn’t enough? What if, sometimes, it’s the thing that blocks us?
So I layered the background in deep purples — the color of spiritual mystery — and let the details float like sensory data not yet interpreted. The flowers, with their delicate lines and blooming forms, became my way of honoring all the ways we sense without seeing. They’re an invitation to pause, to remember that intuition has its own language.
As an artist, I believe that intuition is one of our most undervalued tools. It doesn’t scream like vision does. It whispers. And you can only hear it when you turn away from the flood of stimulation and lean inward. Mirage was my way of doing that — of holding space for the quiet truths.
That’s also why I think people connect to Mirage. It’s not a passive piece. It pulls you into the paradox of modern perception — where more isn’t always more, and sometimes the way out is through the senses we’ve been taught to ignore.
