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Artist's Statement

After the battle, I sit. After the battle, when the coloured standards hold no more promise of victory. Broken and torn, they proclaim nothing more glorious than the bodies of the dead that lay stained with the sepia earth around them. Bodies that were once men and women who followed them nobly to slaughter.

For what is there left, when even the last mournful voices have faded, claimed by the cold embrace of silence? When those I have loved and cared for are gone and my very purpose for being is thwarted by the swords and bloodied cries of men whose lives I have tried to save? What thoughts are to be had when even the healer sits bleeding of a mortal wound, with no hand left to help she who tried so vainly to stand against the onslaught of war?

Yet even after the battle, the clouds strafe away, the blood sinks into the dirt, and life slowly creeps back.

Even after the battle, there is hope.


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Coloured pencils on grey card


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