Having drawn them for a long time I find now that human faces all look the same in the end. I'm not too vain, I don't look at myself too often - only to focus on squeezing a pimple or applying mascara. So when I do take a considered look at my face I am alarmed to see that it doesn't align with who I feel myself to be.
A silent blank face is like a vacuum: sometimes appearing to be a mask of nihility, but then shocking in its ability to break into an ebullient display of meaning, letting us into a personal world view.
Whenever I feel cynical of people I don't know, I like to think about the people who I perceive as valuable and interesting, the people I cherish, and I think of how they are also probably looked on with cynicism by certain people who don't know them. A face is a facade, behind walls are rooms filled with the stuff that makes up a life.
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