The Ravenhead

She is the origin.

I sat sketching in my bedroom one night in 2019, and she floated in from no where. Or I should say, from a less-than-conscious place. There are sketches that I forget, then there are the others. Gut punches or lingering specters. She was both.

Some have asked if there is a narrative, a story behind the work. I wanted her to exist as just an idea. As herself without need of a plot, but the only answer is, of course, yes. When the ravens cropped up from her skull, a story grew up with them. I’ve written the whole thing (it’s just not on paper yet.) She has life beyond the Grief House, and I think there are also banshees and a portal to another world. We’ll see.