The Invisible Me 120 x 80 x 4 cm Mixed media on linen Carla Broeckx aka Artica, Amsterdam, 2025 Are you truly yourself? Or have you become what life expected of you? Every phase of life demands a different version of you. Sometimes you adapt, sometimes you are shaped by what others need from you—the caregiver, the comedian, the fighter, the supporter. But what happens when all those roles are no longer needed? Who remains? The irregular shapes in this painting reflect that transformation is constant. Nothing stays the same. Identities shift, masks change, and yet, deep within, something remains untouched. What influences have shaped you? Which choices were truly your own? And what is your core—the part of you that never changes, no matter how many roles you take on? This portrait reflects the layers of identity. The colors and textures mirror evolution, the eyes search for recognition. Look closely. Do you see yourself? Who are you when everything else fades away?
In Amsterdam
This portrait is a window into her world. It tells not only her story but also that of the viewer. For those who look long enough may begin to see themselves in her eyes.
The Guardian of the Soul
In an age long forgotten, when the world was still young and the stars whispered their secrets to those who would listen, there lived a keeper of dreams. She was neither queen nor warrior but something in between—a being of wisdom, protection, and unspoken stories.
Her face was adorned with a mask, not to hide but to reveal. The deep blue shades of her mask represented the depths of her thoughts, the mystery of her existence. The pearls and metallic details were fragments of memories, assembled like the mosaics of ancient temples. Her eyes, piercing and alive, saw through the illusions the world placed before her.
She ruled no land, no kingdom, yet wherever she stood, the space around her became sacred. People sought her out for guidance, for comfort, for the path to their true selves. She did not speak often, but when she did, her voice carried the echoes of lost times, like the wind whispering ancient secrets through forgotten ruins.