There are moments when pain is not a wound but an environment.

A climate.

A room tightening around the body until every movement becomes a held breath.

Past Grievances explores exactly this: grief not as a timeline, but as a psychic space, an unstable geography where emotions bend, collapse, and multiply.

Each work becomes a threshold, and each title a fragment of inner voice,

a thought whispered in the very moment reality fractures.

“THIS CAN NOT BE HAPPENING”

The instant of rupture

A vortex opens like a sky imploding inward.

The central figure does not fight or flee; they are suspended in the exact point where the world ceases to make sense. The title is not a statement but a mental scream bouncing against invisible walls.

Here, denial is born, not from refusal, but from overload.

When everything happens too quickly to have shape, the body dissolves into particles, gravity twists, and time fractures into one interminable second.

Here the figure is compressed, folded, clenched by its own internal tension.

Hands grip, plead, hold onto something slipping away.

The light, minimal and harsh, offers no resolution.

This is the realm of anger:

not the explosive kind, but the one that tears from within.

The title is a promise we already know to be untrue,

yet in that moment it becomes the only defense against the inevitability of loss.

The impossibility of acceptance becomes a temporary identity.

Two figures face each other, but neither seems to belong entirely to the external world.

It is a conversation with what remains when memory has lost its outline,

the self and its echo, the present and the ghost of a still-active past.

The eyes, white and wounded, are incisions in the surface.

Hands reach for a contact that cannot heal but can prevent the fall.

Never alone does not speak of companionship.

It speaks of the truth that grief never leaves once it enters.

It becomes interlocutor, presence, counter-frame.

We are never alone in our mourning.

We are always accompanied by earlier versions of it.

The body bends, shrinks, becomes porous—not an act of surrender, but the beginning of an involuntary metamorphosis.

Dissolution is not annihilation: it is a return to the elemental state.

When one no longer has the strength to resist pain, one becomes dust, wave, rhythm.

The vortex does not kill here, it absorbs.

The title is both confession and observation:

I could no longer hold myself together.

In the final image, the figure is no longer disintegrated nor crushed.

They sit, or rise, like a body that has passed through all its dark metamorphoses and now reinserts itself into the landscape surrounding it.

The vortex still moves, but no longer dominates: it is the world flowing, not an adversary.

A small, barely visible skull signals that loss has not been erased but acknowledged.

The title is the last revelation:

Wherever you live, loss will find you, but it will also shape you.

No matter where one chooses to dwell, grief becomes part of the interior architecture,

a presence that no longer suffocates but shapes.

Past Grievances does not narrate healing; it narrates transformation.

It shows how consciousness, when traversed by pain, loses form only to find a new one,

more complex, more adult, more true.

These five works, and their titles, are not isolated moments,

but five movements of the same breath:

the rupture, the dissolution, the rebellion, the dialogue with the shadow, and finally coexistence.

You do not overcome pain.

You outlive it.

And one day, without noticing, you realize that you are made partly of it too.