Back Stabbers

Dimension: 30 x 30 inches.

You don’t just look at this face you feel it staring back at you. Split clean down the middle by a descending knife, it’s not just wounded it’s dissected. The blade doesn’t drip blood, but something colder: betrayal. It divides the self, carving a line between who you were before the backstab and who you are after.

The eyes, blood-red and swollen with fury, don’t plead they accuse. They’re wide open, not in fear, but in the kind of disbelief that comes when the wound is fresh and the knife is still warm. The exaggerated white teeth below are clenched in a grotesque grimace part scream, part silence. It’s the face you wear when you’ve been betrayed but refuse to break.

The crown, tilted and fading, hints at a lost sense of dignity or trust once held high, now barely hanging on. The background swirls in muted chaos, like emotional static, amplifying the tension without offering relief.

This isn’t just a portrait it’s a psychological autopsy. A study in how betrayal doesn’t just hurt it reshapes the face you show the world.