This Is Fine looks calm at first. A quiet train ride. A still figure. Nothing urgent in sight. But the calm is a costume. Underneath is the kind of chaos you can’t fully name yet, only feel pressing at the edges.

I painted it after I left a life that no longer fit. I was in that in-between space where you have to keep moving, even when you do not know where you will land. On the outside, I looked fine. On the inside, I was holding it together with the same shaky care you use to carry a too-full cup.

People tell me they see themselves in it. Maybe that is because the world is on fire in one way or another for all of us right now. We still get up. We still get on with it. We keep showing up for work, for the people we love, for whatever is in front of us. We keep going while the wreckage tags along.

In my work, I look for the space where humor and heartbreak overlap. The absurd part of survival. The moments where you keep moving because stopping is not an option. This Is Fine lives in that space. It is stillness and storm at the same time.

Read more about the piece in the Bureau of Queer Art’s Volume 9 publication on substack.