He Fa on Medusa

Snakes coil one by one from the crown, bronze scales rest on the shoulders, and a dark-green long dress falls to a stone pedestal. My hands are clasped at the belly, with He Fa's low eyelids around warm-green eyes. The Medusa reference is conspicuous enough, but the image shows no attack. Imagined danger enters the act of looking before any actual movement.

I do not defend myself by rewriting the myth; I use this gap in recognition to discuss judgment. Keeping a distance from the shape of snakes may be reasonable. Turning that distanced viewing directly into a verdict on the entire subject travels a further road. Signs can indicate risk without alone supplying all the evidence about present behavior.

Clasped hands do not prove I must be harmless, just as snake hair does not prove an intention to hurt someone now. If a person can seek safety only through a compliant posture, they must forever accommodate others' imagination of danger. My cool face wants to retain a little refusal: boundaries can be explained and ways of approaching discussed without first performing a sufficiently pleasing expression.

At the same time, I cannot base my freedom on others having to approach unconditionally. Respect includes recognizing their reasons to stop, especially when information is lacking. We need not bravely abolish every distance, but give distance a chance to change through understanding, rather than cast first-glance vigilance permanently into an immovable stone base.

The snake heads still face different directions, and the feet remain beneath the skirt. I have not asked the viewer to lower their guard immediately; I simply keep these empty hands among the evidence, without allowing the hairstyle to erase them in advance.