One week after surviving a pulmonary embolism, Screaming Duckling found a new home.
The piece—11 x 17 inches, created in ink and colored ink pens—was never intended to be a literal self-portrait, yet it quietly became one. Created in the wake of a medical emergency that abruptly disrupted everyday life, Screaming Duckling emerged from a place of shock, recovery, and recalibration.
The composition is energetic and fragmented, with a central figure that feels both playful and distressed. The duckling form—often associated with innocence or humor—is twisted into something louder and more complex. Lines stretch, collide, and scatter. Shapes interlock like mechanisms, while patterns pulse with urgency. The figure appears mid-motion, caught between flight and collapse, voice implied rather than shown. It doesn’t whisper. It doesn’t explain itself. It screams.
Working in ink allowed for immediacy. There is no erasing, no retreating once the line is committed. Colored ink pens brought contrast and rhythm—bright yellows, reds, greens, and blues interrupting the black structure like bursts of breath. The medium matched the moment: precise, fragile, permanent.
At the time of its creation, the future felt uncertain. A pulmonary embolism forces awareness of the body in a way few experiences do. Breath becomes deliberate. Time slows. Priorities shift. In that space, making art is no longer about productivity or polish—it becomes about presence. About marking survival.
That Screaming Duckling sold just a week later adds another layer to its story. The sale was not just a transaction, but a quiet affirmation that the work—born out of vulnerability—connected with someone else. It moved from a private act of processing into a shared experience. From recovery to release.
The buyer did not acquire an object alone, but a moment in time: a piece created when life felt precarious, when every breath mattered, when expression was both necessity and proof of being here.
Today, Screaming Duckling stands as a reminder that art doesn’t wait for perfect conditions. Sometimes it arrives during chaos. Sometimes it speaks before the artist is fully ready to. And sometimes, it finds its way into the world faster than expected—carrying with it a story of survival, resilience, and the strange beauty that can emerge when everything changes.