Did you ever enter the bedroom of a dirty teenager when you were a teenager? I remember going into the bedrooms of my friends, secretly wondering who was cooler.. or messier. I still remember the posters of gothic bands hanging close to one another like wallpaper plastered on the walls. The lucky oppertunities I go when I got to go inside my secret crush’s room, nonchalantly looking around for clues as to what kind of person this was. It probably only happened once.
It did puzzle me that this particular art piece of an artist bed was left the way that she had it when she was in severe depression from relationships. That she had suicidal thoughts while in this bed.. I guess the pain was so bad she wanted to end it. I got an immediate familarity with the emotional pain. I realized that this bed might be even more to her just for that physical pain she felt. Which adds its value not only to her but other people just for the interest.
Then I wonder how clean I keep mine. I can’t even sleep in a dirty bed. How she is able to keep unwashed stained undies around her bed.. I do not know. But it does make me wonder why do I keep my sad, ugliness of despair. Because you know that’s what that is. Everybody has it. This artist just keeps her visual like this. Everybody has this little corner of a nook where they take refuge of the hurt and pain the world has caused them into something they just let go of. They could either just refused to see the truth of things or just let it build around them like a hoarder. But it’s an outlet all the same.