“An eye framed by teeth”

The creature on this canvas was not born; it was assembled from whatever remained after the sky fell. Beneath a pinkish-red bonnet hides a star, like a secret too shameful to wear openly. One ear is ordinary, human, with a shard of a star swaying in it like an earring found among ashes. The other ear is already half a sun, bristling with thorns: it hears too much. An eyebrow rests on the face as an upturned crescent, as if the moon once fell and never got up again.

A wing grows from a thorn and vanishes into an arm, and the arm becomes a leg in a stiletto heel. The gesture is at once feminine, absurd and helpless: an attempt to walk toward what one reaches for. The other arm has renounced form altogether and remains only a point.

The body splits into two parts that never touch. The upper one strains upward, toward its own wings. The lower one watches: it bears an eye framed by small blue teeth, and it is unclear whether this gaze is being guarded or about to be swallowed. From below grows a single leg with a red pedicure, standing on rays of sunlight as casually as if light were simply a floor.

This is a work about fragility that has learned to prick. About beauty assembled from the debris of celestial bodies, and about a gaze that must exist surrounded by teeth.