unknown

At first glance, the pincushion seems ordinary: a soft surface punctured with needles, a tool of making. But here, the form is transformed. A faint face emerges from its surface, it looks like it is tightly tied, frozen in time — an imprint of identity caught beneath fabric, constricted and immobilized.
The cushion becomes more than support; it becomes a metaphor for the human condition. Like us in our daily lives, it is bound, pressed, and restrained, its softness held captive by sharp intrusions. Each needle pierces from a different angle, echoing the ways in which we are judged, scrutinized, and defined by external eyes.
The piece exists between fragility and resilience: scarred, wounded, yet still holding shape. It is both an archive of labor and a mirror of the self — revealing how even the most unassuming objects can carry the weight of memory, pressure, and human experience.
The pincushion, in this form, is not only a tool but a body. A face trapped, a surface scarred, a reminder of the silent endurance that exists beneath every act of creation.