The Monstrous Side

December 16, 2024


Art has always held the power to evoke a wide range of emotions, from joy and wonder to discomfort and fear. As an artist, I’ve come to realize that one of the most compelling aspects of my work is its ability to both attract and repulse. And as much as it might seem contradictory, the same force that draws people in — that allure, that magnetic pull — is exactly what pushes others away. The reason? I choose to reveal the monstrous side of things.

In many ways, I see the act of creating art as an exploration of the hidden, the obscured, and the terrifyingly beautiful. It’s not about prettifying the world, nor is it about sugar-coating reality. Rather, it’s about pulling back the layers that often go unnoticed or are intentionally ignored. I paint the monsters in the corners of our lives — the discomforts, the fears, the parts of humanity and existence that we tend to shy away from or suppress.

But this very act of revealing can be a double-edged sword.

Allure of the Monstrous

There’s something undeniably fascinating about the grotesque, the uncanny, the monstrous. It taps into a primal part of us that is both curious and captivated by the unknown. When you look at my paintings, you’re looking at a world unfiltered — a place where beauty and horror coexist, where emotion is raw, where you’re forced to confront the darkest corners of your own psyche.

The appeal lies in the vulnerability. In our everyday lives, we often avoid confronting the "monstrous" elements of our world, preferring the safety of the familiar and the comfortable. But in art, particularly in the more visceral works, we’re invited into that dark space with the promise of understanding — or at least acknowledging — what we might otherwise choose to ignore.

Monsters, in my art, are not just grotesque creatures or distorted figures. They represent the parts of ourselves and the world around us that we refuse to deal with. They are the fears, anxieties, and existential questions we bury deep inside. And for many, there’s something deeply cathartic about seeing these things made visible — about being forced to reckon with them in a way that feels both alien and intimate at once.

This confrontation, as unsettling as it can be, is also liberating. It’s a space where you are allowed to feel the full range of human emotion, from disgust to fascination, from terror to awe. It’s a place where the monster doesn’t just lurk in the shadows — it’s front and center, staring you in the face, daring you to look.

Repulsion of the Monstrous

But of course, not everyone shares the same response. The very things that attract some viewers to my work are the same qualities that repel others. The monster is a double-edged sword, after all. For many, encountering the grotesque, the unfamiliar, and the uncomfortable is not a cathartic experience — it’s a jarring one. It disrupts their sense of safety, their understanding of the world as a place of order and beauty.

Art, at its core, is a reflection of the world, and the world is not always a clean, tidy place. My paintings reveal this truth — that life is messy, complicated, and often brutal. But for those who prefer to keep their worldview neat and sanitized, my work might feel too much, too intense, too confronting. It brings up feelings that are difficult to handle — fear, discomfort, even disgust. The monstrosities I depict may seem like reflections of humanity’s darker instincts, a place where chaos reigns rather than calm, and where normality is twisted beyond recognition.

And that, I think, is what causes repulsion. It’s not just the form of the figures or the distorted realities I create; it’s the challenge to the viewer’s preconceived notions of what art should be. My paintings force a confrontation with discomfort, and for many, that’s not something they’re ready for. The monsters are too real, too raw. The emotions they provoke are too intense, too unfiltered.

Beauty and Horror

But isn’t there something beautiful in that tension? In the way the monstrous and the beautiful are woven together in my work? To see beauty in the grotesque is a paradox that I find endlessly compelling. After all, the same traits that make a creature hideous — its sharp angles, its unsettling proportions, its monstrous features — can also be the things that make it mesmerizing. There’s a haunting beauty in the rawness of emotion, in the vulnerability of showing something that’s not supposed to be beautiful but is, in its own right.

For those who are drawn to my work, it’s not just about the discomfort. It’s about embracing the full spectrum of the human experience. We don’t get to choose which parts of ourselves we embrace; sometimes, the darker, more monstrous sides of who we are are just as important — if not more so — than the parts we consider beautiful or easy to love.

Confronting the Monstrous

The reason people are drawn to my paintings is the same as why others are repelled. Both responses stem from the same place: a confrontation with the monstrous. In revealing the hidden, the grotesque, and the raw, I invite my viewers to look more deeply into the world — and into themselves. Whether that revelation is a source of catharsis or discomfort is up to the individual. But one thing is certain: the monsters I paint are not there to be ignored. They are here to remind us that even in the most unsettling places, there can be meaning, understanding, and yes, beauty.

In the end, art — like life itself — is about embracing all sides of existence, the monstrous and the beautiful, the dark and the light. It’s this balance, this push and pull, that makes it worth looking at, no matter how uncomfortable or unsettling it might feel. Because in those moments of discomfort, we might just find the truth — and sometimes, that’s more beautiful than anything we could have imagined.