Azazel: The Bearer of Burdens

Medium: Acrylic

Date: 2024

"Azazel: The Bearer of Burdens"

For this week’s blog, I am thrilled to unveil my latest mural—a larger rendition of a piece I first created last year. Expanding on the original, this version captures the same intensity but on a grander scale, inviting deeper reflection on its meaning.

When I created Azazel, I found myself in the ancient ritual from Leviticus 16:8, the story of the scapegoat—the creature chosen to be sent into the wilderness, burdened with the sins of the community. This figure, cast out at Yom Kapur and yet essential to the process of atonement, stirred something deeply personal within me. In Azazel, I sought to capture that tension, the haunting reality of being both necessary and forgotten, both burdened and abandoned.

My family suffered harsh disappointment from the failure of their ambitious goals. They needed something or someone to blame because their suffering was too great to bear. I became the scapegoat. For years, my mother would often look at me with contempt, sneering, "You are a terrible person." My father, on the other hand, chose silence, only offering looks of disdain—his lips curling in disgust as he snorted and turned away. Just like Azazel, they drove me to the Greyhound bus, sending me to the desert of evil: New York City, the place for Azazel, a demon of sin destined for destruction. As I write this I am mindful that it is the week of Yom Kippur, a time for reflection, atonement, and the bearing of burdens.

Visual Elements:
Azazel dominates the canvas with his twisted, almost serpentine body, coiled as if in perpetual motion. His form is stretched, elongated, as though weighed down by forces unseen. I wanted to feel his struggle, to sense his wandering, trapped between two worlds. His face, divided cleanly into two halves, demanded my full attention. I chose deep crimson for the left side, a visceral representation of sacrifice, suffering, and the bloodstains of sin. The right, in cold blue, mirrors the isolation he feels, the emotional distance of exile. And that grin—oh, that unsettling grin—it both mocks and laments the role he has been forced into, revealing sharp teeth as if to suggest he is not just a victim but also capable of something darker.

The stark yellow background serves as the wilderness in which he roams—a space that is more concept than landscape, meant to be oppressive in its emptiness. Yellow is often considered a color of optimism or energy, but here it’s something harsher. It’s the desert of abandonment, a reminder of the unforgiving fate Azazel carries with him.

Symbolism:
Azazel is my personal exploration of what it means to carry others’ burdens. In the biblical ritual, the scapegoat is essential—without it, there can be no full atonement. But there’s something profoundly tragic about being necessary in this way. The red half of his face represents the sins and sacrifices he must bear—sins not his own. It’s the pain of bloodshed, of violence inflicted on others but absorbed into him. The blue half, however, is the coldness of isolation. It’s the exile he suffers because he is not allowed to return, not permitted to be among those who sent him away.

The hand clutching his own body—this was deliberate. It’s both a gesture of protection and imprisonment. I wanted to show that even though Azazel carries the sins of the world, he is also deeply alone in holding them. There’s no escape from what he’s been given. He must hold it in, always. And that’s the paradox I wanted to explore—how we all, at times, become the bearer of burdens, both by choice and by circumstance.

Techniques:
My technique with Azazel was intentionally fragmented. His body, while solid in some areas, is incomplete in others, fading into the background. It was important to me that he feel as if he’s dissolving into the wilderness, becoming part of it. He’s both present and vanishing at the same time. The contrast between the harsh, bold lines of his face and the lighter, almost hesitant strokes on his body was a way for me to express that duality—he is strong in his purpose, but weak in his isolation. The background, a flat plane of searing yellow, is meant to be uncomfortably simple, emphasizing the harshness of his environment. It’s a space with no escape, no refuge.

Emotional Impact:
Azazel is a creature of discomfort. I wanted viewers to feel both pity and unease when they look at him. His eyes, each expressing something different—madness and resignation—are meant to confront you with the weight of his burden. What I hope lingers in your mind is not just his suffering, but the sense of inevitability that comes with it. He is condemned, yes, but there’s also something powerful in how he holds onto his fate. He doesn’t shy away from it. He grins through it. There’s a kind of strength in accepting one’s role, no matter how difficult.

When I painted that twisted smile, I thought about how we often grin through our own suffering, how we carry the weight of things not entirely ours, because we have no other choice. There’s pain in it, but also a kind of dark pride.

Life Lesson:
Azazel, for me, represents the scapegoat in all of us. We each carry burdens—whether they are our own or placed upon us by others. The question becomes: can we ever truly escape them, or do they simply transform, following us like shadows through the wilderness of our own minds? Azazel’s journey is one of isolation, and through him, I confront my own fears of exile—both physical and emotional. He reminds me that the things we try to cast away have a way of staying with us. We might send our guilt into the wilderness, but it remains a part of us, waiting in the distance.

Picasso once said, "Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth." And with Azazel, I realize this: we cannot escape the burdens we carry; we can only learn to bear them with a strange kind of grace, as Azazel does—grinning, but always walking forward into the endless expanse.