There are spaces where love resides. Body parts, organs, crannies.
Open, where it circulates as blood. Closed, where stagnates and sometimes hurts. Love can get sick. Also kill.
This series of pieces speak of those spaces and pay homage to those suffering women, missing and killed by their so-called love.
Emotions do not go unnoticed in our body,
they can pierce us like a ray of light or like a sharp knife.
Pieces cradled upon my body.
Almost as an evidence, a sample of what we do not see but happens inside us.
Sometimes, the ill-named love that makes us sick, little by little, stagnates in some recess and hurts.
It feels raw, and the wound never heals.
The traces of violence against people, in any of its manifestations.
Work done with porcelain hand-molded, glazed and 950 silver constructed.