This piece feels like standing still in a place you didn’t mean to end up in.
Vertical streaks stretch down the canvas like shadowed trees, blurred and indistinct, as if you’re looking through fog or memory rather than something solid. There’s no clear path, no horizon — just depth, repetition, and the quiet sense of being surrounded.
The forms don’t feel threatening… but they don’t feel safe either.
They create a space that is both still and heavy. The kind of stillness where your thoughts get louder, where you’re left alone with what’s going on inside your head.
This is what certain moments with diabetes can feel like — not chaos, not panic, but something more subtle and harder to explain.
A kind of mental wandering.
You’re functioning. You’re doing what needs to be done.
But internally, it can feel like you’ve drifted into a place that’s harder to navigate — where everything looks the same, and you’re not quite sure which direction leads out.
There’s no clear danger here.
Just uncertainty… and the weight of being in it.
And that’s where Mind Over Sugar comes in — not to force a way out, but to help you find clarity within the space, so you’re not lost inside it.
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