Annie Huang

This piece shows the precious me trapped in a prison of my own making. I am encased in mementos of past pieces such as the red pillar, a crumbling brick wall, and everyday objects like my desk and a canvas. My long hair, touching the floor, trapped in my own body and a lack of support. I am stuck, not physically, but mentally. The cell door is open, yet I remain, because the prison is my art: I could stop drawing, but I don't. Eyes on the posters, like competitions and peers. They watch me; I draw for attention, for proof, for recognition, and I have lost the simple love that once drove me. The more I create, the more my well-being falls apart. Now I sit before a blank canvas. This precious self is stuck, with no way out.