Many people have been asking me recently why I draw faces with no eyes, so here it goes. It’s not a gothic thing or a creepy horror however you want to label it style. There is a reason, one I don’t hide behind but stand by.
Ever since I was a child, all I’ve heard was that eyes are the keys to the soul, they tell your story in a raw, almost painful clarity, in shades of brown, green or blue. That may be true. However, our story is also marked in every line in our face and body, every wrinkle, sunspot, freckle, scar, smile, movement of our eyebrows, jaw and nose. Our stories are safely tucked in every skin fold and every protruding bone and until we stop focusing on the undeniable beauty of eyes, we’ll always miss out on the equally mesmerizing dance of the rest of our being, the way everything moves and stays still, the way little details change with time and experiences. I don’t draw eyes because eyes tell too much, more than I can ever tell with a brush or a pen no matter the precision I can reach. I can draw detailed irises and mysterious pupils, with iridescent greens and watery blues, but I am no clear voyant magician, and I do not pretend to see souls bare, I observe and replicate what my own eyes want to see, understand or are able to distinguish. That is all, the simple truth behind the void, and I hope I do that well enough, because I truly do it wholeheartedly.