Throughout my journey, I have had various containers full of needles, and vials, and pills, and patches. Jars, boxes, bags, and assorted specialized containers. And within each of them, an illusion of hope was carefully kept. And when that hope was not fulfilled, and the container ended up empty, it left in its place an encapsulated void, a hole that, even contained, was difficult to contain.
Enclosed holes are less dangerous, although not yet healed: they have not lost their drainage property. Perhaps it would be better to open the containers’ covers, let them breathe, and allow them to heal, as we would with a wound.
February 2024, Colored pencils and thread on paper, 11 in x 14 in
Beatriz Alonso Carvajales 