All of us have things that are sacred to us. Things that we hide deep inside crevices carved in the rooms of our own. I’m no different. There are a few things in my life extremely sacred to me. Things I hide to keep them from eyes that might be able to see, to understand.

Two of these sacred things are artistic expressions of my innermost thoughts — art and poetry. I write poems to understand how I feel, and I paint canvases to get rid of how I feel.

Blank Canvas is a collection of those feelings. The canvases you see here aren’t just canvases with paint thrown all over it. Some haphazard, some peaceful. Some evoking a chaotic storm of emotions, some evoking nothing. They are all artworks birthed from emotions, like Athena springing free from Zeus’ mind.

In fact, I don’t think of these canvases as paintings at all. I think of them the moment in which they were created. In which they were empty, before I poured myself all over them.

Sometimes it would be a gentle process, where I would choose the paints carefully, mix the shades with the precision of a surgeon. Pouring it perfectly over the canvas, ensuring it is exactly how I feel. Other times, I wouldn’t be as careful. The precision would fly out the window, and all that would transfer would be pure, raw emotion.

Maybe that’s why the only name I can think of, when I think of this collection, is ‘Blank Canvas’. If I tell you the absolute truth, I don’t even view these canvases as paintings. For I remember the moment of their creation to an astute detail. When I look at them, I can see a tremble of my hand here, and a moment of rage there. I still see them as blank canvases. With their chaotic imperfections and glaring rawness — they aren’t paintings to me. They are my memories, my feelings. A sacred little slice of my soul, that I’m baring for you all to see.