miss may was a strange little girl who kept running away from herself and anyone else that tried to get too close. at an early age she discovered magic wands called colour pencils and fell in love. as she grew older in her mind she discovered a secret resort completely ecscluded from reality, a vast ocean of emotion that would never cease to exist. in her early teens she felt as old as a hundred year-old howling woman but no one could hear her cryes as she felt devious little prankster that wore a million masks, each for a diferent person. she learned the gentle art of suffering, her tormented soul would make her pour all her wrath onto canvas...her only way of expression over and over again. her art is her love. her love is her life. her passion brings out the worst in her which she elloquently transforms into images, entrapped forever on her canvas. she continues to explore the human mind to benefit from all it's forms and deviations. the very core of her research though as always the female body, androginous, but never male. as she had been convinced since the tiniest youth that being a female is infact a punishment therefore a good motive for selfdestruction she lurks and seeks through her art to find out just how much of THAT (eloquently explained to her by a male mind) could really be the truth. she is angry, subtle, allert, open, direct, emotive, cruel, with a mind of her own and a reason to chase. her paintings speak for her and of her. her paintings deliberate her of her one true quest in life...the blood. the vital sign of a diing corpse, the elixir of desire, strung out between two lovers, the unstopable craving that one needs to get by on a dayly basis, the intricate beauty of a single haemoglobish drop that curls out from underneath where the secrets lie...she needs and she nurtures. and she feels good about it all.
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