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I love this painting by "Umbrella Head", and it prompted the thought that this was really less about looking outward towards a myriad of other people, and more about looking in at ourselves. Maybe it reveals some of my own insecurities, and the desire to keep the curtains closed.
We all have these layers and complexities, odd little humans that we are. We fight and struggle and love and hate and fear things all day, throughout the various systems that we interact within. What are my windows? What would someone see, and when do I open the shades to let others in? How many are staged, and how many are the ugly little face, two rows up, second from the left?
Unanswered questions to ponder.
Cheers,
Harriet.
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