Canned butterflies

Saskia pryes on the kitchen, hungry after witnessing the horror of her aunts. She knows that it is her fault too, having opened the house door for them without asking who they were. There is barely anything edible in the cabinet, they have eaten almost everything. They don’t take good care of her. The she spots them: the lines of dead butterflies, suspended in syrup, inside dozens of crystal bottles. For the first time in her short life, Saskia begins to feel angry. Watercolor and graphite on canvas.