Last piece I'll do about this Czech artist.
I think I've seen enough to tell what her specific story is, and as odd as it sounds, I'm going to post her last piece of poetry and 2 of the few actual photographs she took as something of a closing to this little dig on her work.
I know we sometimes judge these bodies of work and anyone involved in producing them as beyond sick, but girls like her, these are the forgotten children we're all fighting for here, and this is the reality of the life they have to live. The places they've been, the things they seen. No one should have to feel so broken, and if this helps her in any way, well…it's because of people like her willing to share her art we can get to understand this sick world and the ways of the enemy we're fighting against.
Anyway, this anon's going to thank her for sharing her story. I hope the above recognition is able to do the pieces of her life justice, in some small way.
(Poem copypasta'd from G translate)
one of my newer works …
The eyes of drowned eyes smelled of the traces of youth
and he wept the gloom of emptiness.
The night and blood whispered in the tears of the sound of light.
From fading faces and lips of loneliness
τη year τη τη not not τη30 τη not τη not τη τη not not not not year τη not not τη not τη30 τη τη30 τη30 not τη τη τη not not30
anxiety more than rotten daisies.
The broken memories tortured the drawing on his wrist
what life has done.
And in broken worlds, according to not
the girl whispered softly
the depths
in the ocean of silence and emptiness:
Year not year τη30 not30 not30 not30 not30 not30 not not τη not not not not τη30 not30 τη not τη τη not τη not not30 τη not30 not τη τη not30 not
who clutches the darkness and mystery of grief
extinguished the lights of hope and lit it
not not τη not τη τη τη30 τη not τη τη τη30 τη τη τη τη τη τη τη τη τη τη τη τη τη τη30 τη not τη τη not τη not τη τη not τη τη τη30 not
When I was afraid of a wet wall, I wrote
eyes,
roaring messages to half a grid,
about how the tears of the dead light all over
my death