Underground Stars

In the Middle Ages, artists believed that precious stones held magical properties, bestowed upon them by the stars—just as the idealized woman was thought to transmit virtue to man, like the Sun illuminating the Earth, like God’s love for humanity.

I have often told myself that I must surround myself with beauty in order to live; without it, my existence would be irredeemably bleak. When asked what happiness means to me, I replied: “Having a safe place in someone.” I was told that this would make my happiness dependent on others. And it still is.

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My heart remains a precious stone, still in need of others to shine. But art moves, transforms. And one day, I hope my heart will become pure light.

My artistic research has always revolved around the body—this intricate collage of atoms held together by some mysterious force. As this body of work expands, like a river leading me toward new landscapes and new art, I increasingly find that the reflection on the water’s surface returns an image: my own.

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In this pieces, sharp, disparate fragments—ceramics and claws, from earth to sea—are bound together by the sheer force of existing within a single body, a single life. Soft yet resilient tentacles hold them in place, embodying both fragility and strength.

Each element, seemingly discordant, finds harmony in the convergence of different worlds, expressing the delicate balance of existence. The composition—a broken pan wrapped in a seashell, completed by sinuous tentacles—suggests a symbiosis between the natural and the artificial, a continuous search for equilibrium and identity amidst the chaos of our lives.