Stories of My Death Have Been Exaggerated

This title is a play on the Twain missquote “The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated” but in this case it’s referring to the artistic licence I’m taking with these past life stories. They aren’t literally attempts to guess at my past lives but metaphorical past lives based on the different chapters of my current life.
This painting depicts Maya’s perspective of me approaching her after the crash. I am lit by the car’s headlights. An outcropping of rock rises up behind me, with weeds poking out and fallen soil reminding us that the earth is constantly moving. Several blood oranges have rolled over to this scene as well. I’m wearing a nondescript outfit but it is yellow from head to toe and my shoes are missing. As most Asian cultures don’t wear shoes in the home, Sri Lankan households are no different, and I grew up associating being home with being barefoot. As all of these stories live in the interior of my mind, the lack of shoes feels to me like a way to indicate that even though it looks like we are outdoors, it’s still an interior space.