We claim that we are busy; busy working, playing, just living. We seldom take a break and reflect on ourselves. Sometimes even when someone tells us something about us, we refuse to listen. I have definitely been in that situation before. Thinking back, did I get angry at the person because what was said about me was actually true? Something I knew subconsciously is a character in my personality, but was just too afraid to admit… Are their words mirrors reflecting me? Or are they wrongly judging?
The rug is called “Lovers”, urethane of the average amount of blood in two people. There is something beautiful about this implied destruction. The thought of “What was once there”. Just like beauty in ruins, it provokes imaginations of stories and fantasies. It is like a love for historical sites. Walking around imagining, maybe I was a part of this in my previous life.
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