Artist Statement

As the first-born child and grandchild, I grew up with the quiet expectation of always being a role model. I first heard the term “Eldest Daughter Syndrome” during therapy, and it gave words to something I had felt for a long time but had never been able to name.

This series is my way of exploring that role and the emotions that come with it. It reflects the pressure to be responsible, supportive, and strong for others, often while putting your own needs aside. The work is inspired by the women in my family, my closest friends, and the caregiving figures we’ve seen represented in popular culture.

Through this series, I wanted to acknowledge both the weight and the strength that come with being someone others rely on.

It is a tribute to those who quietly take care of everyone around them. It’s also my confession about my persistent sense of failure: the feeling of never quite fulfilling my duties of unspoken expectations.

The first painting of the series (tho there’s no particular order) is an evolution of my previous smaller work “Eldest Daughter”.

The painting’s centerpiece is a metal corset - an armor worn to protect the family. It is intertwined with dried roses, symbolizing the sacrifice of one’s own vitality for the sake of others. I once read: “born first, expected to put herself last”. These words spoke to me because I often feel guilty if I don’t do so. Dried flowers are also associated with the struggle of finding love, a consequence of being overly independent and emotionally guarded.

The arrow is a direct tribute to one of our most well-known eldest daughters - Katniss Everdeen. As a teenager, I was strongly impressed by how brave and strong she was. An arrow can also indicate romantic love. But can it break through the armor?

The cracks fracturing the metal corset remain as a crucial part of this composition. They represent my persistent sense of failure: the feeling of never quite fulfilling my duties of being the role model I was expected to be.

“I tried so desperately not to fail others that I ended up failing myself.”

The second painting features a girl seen from behind. Multiple hands reach toward her center, slowly tearing apart her skin. This piece is a visual representation of the eldest daughter’s boundaries (or, more accurately, her lack of them)

These hands may seem invasive; however, the figure allows them to hold her. I wanted to capture the yearning to be the one who is taken care of. This idea is further emphasized by a cluster of forget-me-not flowers blooming along her spine. A need hidden deep within, close to her heart.

“Eldest daughters don’t break down - they break quietly.”

I’d like to thank my friends for sharing their experiences with me so that I could create these works. This series is for you 🫶

“Younger Daughter” is the closing piece of my “Eldest Daughter” series. Though I can’t relate to being one, I based this painting on stories shared with me by my friends. I’m beyond grateful that they chose to trust me with their experiences.

“Being the youngest child seems like a dream till you’re too deep into believing it and realize it’s not.”

Being the younger one often means comparing yourself to your older siblings. Looking up to them and wishing to be all grown up. That’s why a caterpillar appears on one of the trays, gazing upward in search of her butterfly sister.

At times, being the younger sibling brings an overwhelming sense of guilt. Differences in upbringing can lead to misunderstandings and emotional distance.

“All of the seemingly little things like that, they pile up, and sometimes I drown in guilt for getting things that weren’t even on the table for her. It’s a twisted game of loving and hating, and promising yourself to never repeat such mistakes with your own kids.”

The entire composition of the trays is placed on the butterfly. The scene is viewed through the perspective of the elder sister, who suffers from her own broken wings. Flying away from the higher tray only because she doesn’t want to reveal her flaws.

“And tho it ain’t easy, there’s this strange sense of freedom that you feel once you admit that you have failed...”

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