Medusa
I’m currently working in a bar to support myself while navigating university as a mature student. Recently, I was chatting with a customer named Kevin who took an interest in my art. During our conversation, I shared my website with him, and he expressed a desire to purchase a print of one of my paintings. Unfortunately, I had already sold all the prints, so I offered him the proof artwork from the printer instead.
Kevin returned a few more times, and during one of his visits, he asked if I could create a commissioned piece for him. From his perspective, he saw a dark, mythological element in my artwork, which inspired him to commission a painting of Medusa.
Strangely enough, one of the first art trips I took was during sixth form college when I was 18. We stayed in Florence, and in room 96 of the Uffizi Gallery, I came across a curved wooden shield with a depiction of Medusa by Caravaggio. There are certain artworks that stay with you, and this piece is one I always vividly remember (which is saying something, given my not-so-great memory!). Perhaps elements of this work have subtly influenced my own personal artwork. It was striking—her hair was alive with snakes, and blood gushed violently from her neck at the moment she saw her reflection in Perseus’s shield just before he beheaded her. It was an image she had been avoiding, vivid and deeply disturbing. This encounter was a powerful reminder that portraiture, and art in general, isn’t always about beauty. Art tells a story. It’s the pieces that make you stop and ask questions—that’s what true art is.
People often ask me to paint for them, but in my chaotic mind, I hit an emotional block. I tend to see the art I create as simply a way to pay bills, lacking any real heart or meaning, which makes me feel like it doesn’t matter. Deep down, I know I need to accept that people may actually want and appreciate what I’ve produced. Yet, I’m caught in a difficult cycle of low motivation, self-esteem, and belief in my own work. But with this suggestion, I felt a strange pull—something I might be able to connect with.
This blog is dedicated to telling the story of my Medusa and documenting its development.