

Arranged in a disciplined grid, the work stages a quiet confrontation between uniformity and vulnerability: glossy, bone-toned bulbs repeat like a manufactured chorus, yet each bears a small red mark that reads as both wound and signature. The cool, clinical light slides across their curved surfaces, turning them into sterile specimens while the punctuating crimson insists on bodily presence and risk. From above, the composition feels bureaucratic and controlled; from the lower angle, the forms become a field of watchful eyes, suggesting the uneasy intimacy of being counted, categorized, and exposed.







