I have always been fascinated by the way our bodies hold onto narratives that the mind tries to discard. AURYN began as a meditation on the concept of the eternal return—not as a philosophical burden, but as a physical reality. When I looked at the blank paper, I didn't see a figure; I saw a rhythm, a pulse that refuses to stop even when we are at rest.
My pencil is an extension of my nervous system. In this piece, the lines had to be deliberate, almost sharp, to contrast with the softness of the anatomy. I find that black and white allows for a certain kind of truth that color often obscures. By stripping away the noise, I could focus on the tension in the curve of a back or the way a hand rests, heavy with the memory of everything it has touched.
The title is a nod to the talisman of a childhood myth, but here, the never-ending story is the one written in the flesh. It is about the eroticism of persistence. There is a specific kind of sensuality in the way we repeat ourselves—the way we love the same way, hurt the same way, and eventually find our way back to the same skin.
A drawing that captures the moment a body becomes a map of its own recurring history.Studio Notes — Arthaus editorial
I chose to leave certain areas open, letting the white of the paper breathe. It suggests that while the story is continuous, it is not yet full. The provocative nature of the work isn't just in the nudity; it’s in the exposure of an internal cycle. It is the vulnerability of being caught in the act of becoming.
Looking at it now, I see a reflection of my own restlessness. This piece taught me that the end of a line is never really an end, just a place where the eye pauses before beginning the journey again. It is a reminder that we are never finished, only layered.
