Deep into the night, hunger gnaws at me, relentless and inescapable. My mind loops the same image over and over—pizza, dripping with melted cheese, oil pooling on the surface, the weight of it heavy in my hands. I can almost taste it, feel it pressing against my lips, the warmth spreading through me as I take a bite. The craving is unbearable, overwhelming. I want more. I need more.

The girl in the painting is me. Her mouth is open, consuming, insatiable. But her eyes—her eyes tell the real story. Wide, desperate, filled with unshed tears. Her brows are furrowed, her expression tense, caught between indulgence and something deeper, something heavier. She knows this moment will pass. She knows that when morning comes, she will feel the weight—not just on her body, but in her mind. And yet, she still eats.

The mouth, in my world, becomes a symbol of desire—a gateway, an entry point through which I take in everything I crave, everything I try to suppress. But desire is never just about pleasure. It is always shadowed by consequence. This is not just about eating—it is about the war between restraint and surrender, between control and collapse. It is the moment of giving in, of letting the hunger win, knowing all too well the regret that will follow.

This is a cycle I know too well. The constant push and pull, the endless battle between discipline and indulgence, the internal voice that whispers don’t do it and the other that urges just this once. It is not just me. It is a conflict so many of us live with—this generation that measures, counts, restricts, only to find itself trapped in the very urges we try to deny.

This painting is my way of capturing that struggle. Of expressing the feeling of knowing you shouldn’t, but doing it anyway. The moment of pure, unfiltered want, clashing against the deep, sinking guilt that follows. It is the weight of desire. The weight of regret. And the quiet understanding that, somehow, this war will never truly end.

But this is also why I create.

I believe the most fascinating thing about art is that it is not just about beauty, warmth, or comfort—it is also about distortion, conflict, extremes, and struggle. Art can be beautiful, but it can also be ugly. At its core, art is about humanity. Not just in the broad sense of the word, but in the most personal, individual sense. This is what makes it powerful.

Art is boundless. It holds everything—the contradictions, the desires, the pains, and the joys. That is why my work shifts, why my style changes. Because art is about me, and it is about people. And we, as people, are complex. We are not one thing. We are many. And that, in itself, is the essence of creation.