These images portray characters staging their existence of theatrics. They are melancholy clowns or saints suspended within the repulsive glamour being human being post-human - an animal needing symbols and language in order to exist.
We need the costume. We are the costume.
There is a blemished face underneath the makeup - underneath the face is a body of bile and blood. We repress this; we revel in the circus of the surface. This is our tragedy. However, the show must go on.
We must powder over our tears - over death.
We take upon ourselves the caricatures of others in order to make sense of ourselves. Without the Blackface the White gaze would have no meaning and Black eyes would be blind to white clowns.
We are all faceless without mirrors.