Everybody’s Cracked, Don’t Break

Everybody’s Cracked, Don’t Break begins with a sentence I carry on my skin. Everyone is cracked by something: pressure, loss, expectation, the city itself. These paintings stay close to the body. A forearm in a red jersey holds a glass over a checkered floor, and a hand turns the page of a notebook in a quiet room. The phrase is read the way it is lived, privately, in ordinary moments. These are not pictures of breaking. They are pictures of holding. The crack is not hidden. It is part of the surface and part of the story, and it is what makes a person worth a second look.