Distorted Waters

There is a dangerous comfort in the lies we tell ourselves about other people. Not the loud lies, but the obvious ones that arrive with warning signs or chaos; the quiet lies that sound merciful in our own minds. Like “They’re trying their best.They didn’t mean to.” Or “They said they would change and it takes time.” These lies often wear the disguise of hope or they give excuse to poor behaviors. That is what makes them so difficult to confront. Sometimes it is easier to question our own instincts than accept the truth standing directly in front of us.

I kept thinking about that while creating this artwork: a man standing chest-deep in water, lace draped over his shoulder, purple flowers hiding his face, his reflection beneath him blurred beyond recognition. At first glance, the image appears mournful and almost gentle. But underneath its softness lives tension. The man is surrounded by concealment. Nothing in the portrait fully reveals itself. The flowers obscure identity. The water distorts reflection. Even the lowered head feels heavy with avoidance, as though he already knows something painful but cannot yet bring himself to look directly at it.

The start of this drawing came from hearing the quote, “It’s harder to live with the lies about you than it is to live with the truth about me,” and it took on a different meaning as I sat with the piece longer. Sometimes the lies are not the stories other people create about us. Sometimes the lies are the stories we create to protect ourselves from disappointment. We convince ourselves someone cares more than they do. We ignore the inconsistency, the distance, or the cruelty hidden inside charm. We see the red flags clearly at first, but eventually we cover them with flowers because beauty is sometimes easier to hold than painful truths.

That is why the flowers over the man’s face matter so deeply to me. Flowers symbolize tenderness, romance, apology, and mourning all at once. In this image, they become a mask created from denial. The man hides behind something beautiful because beauty softens reality. Many of us do the same in relationships or connections that slowly wound us. We focus on potential instead of patterns. We romanticize fragments of kindness while ignoring repeated harm. I’m guilty of holding bouquets over my intuition and calling it love. The Flowers are about carrying softness in a harsh world, beauty alongside pain, and truth beneath distortion.

The lace draped across his shoulder carries another layer of meaning. Lace is delicate and intricate, and almost fragile. It represents vulnerability, but also the exhausting effort it takes to remain soft in situations that continuously harden you. There is a quiet sadness in trying to preserve tenderness while constantly betraying yourself to keep peace with someone else. Every time we silence our instincts, excuse poor behavior, or shrink our standards to avoid losing people, we unravel a little internally. The cloth remains beautiful, but delicate things tear easily when stretched too far.

The water is where the truth lives. Water reflects honestly, but never perfectly. It shifts with movement, emotion, memory, and light. In the drawing, the man’s reflection is blurred because this is what happens when we spend too much time distorting reality for the sake of attachment. We lose clarity not only about others, but about ourselves. The more we ignore red flags, the more disconnected we become from our own voice. Eventually, we stop asking, “Why am I accepting this?” and begin asking, “How much more can I endure?” That blurred reflection represents the moment self-recognition begins slipping away.

What makes denial so dangerous is that it rarely feels destructive in the beginning. It feels hopeful. It feels loyal. It feels patient. But over time, self-abandonment accumulates quietly. The lies we tell ourselves about others become heavier than the truth ever would have been. Because truth may hurt once, but denial forces us to relive the pain repeatedly. The man in the water understands this. That is why his head is lowered. It’s not from weakness, but from exhaustion. There is a specific fatigue that comes from carrying realities we refused to acknowledge because we cared deeply or wanted connection more than honesty.

Yet I do not think this artwork is hopeless. To me, it captures the fragile moment before awakening. It’s the moment before someone finally lifts their head and chooses clarity over illusion. The flowers may still hide his face, but they no longer hide the grief beneath them. The reflection may be distorted, but it still exists. And perhaps growth begins there: not when everything becomes perfect, but when we stop decorating what hurts us and finally allow ourselves to see it clearly. Because living in truth about ourselves and what we value will always hurt less than spending our lives drowning in beautiful lies.

What makes these lies so destructive is that they slowly alter our relationship with ourselves. Every ignored flag teaches the mind to distrust its own warnings. Every excuse made against our better judgment weakens our connection to self-respect. Eventually, we stop asking, “Is this healthy for me?” and begin asking, “How much discomfort can I tolerate to keep this?” That shift changes everything. Because when survival becomes more important than truth, we begin shrinking ourselves to fit situations that were never meant to hold us gently. And there is nothing more exhausting than carrying the weight of realities we refused to see simply because we were afraid to lose what we wanted to believe.