Description

Title: Defloration

Date: July 2025

Dimensions: 150 x 150cm

Medium: Mixed Media (wood cubes, acrylic paint, epoxy resin, real copper paint with genuine copper patina, gold-colored metal chains, modeling compound)

There is a hush behind screens, a collective breath held as eyes lean closer, always closer, into the pixelated abyss. This work is born from that hush—a geometry of desire and violence, a reliquary forged from black lacquer and copper sheen.

In Defloration, each wooden block becomes a cell in a body of secrets. Gloss-black surfaces reflect like obsidian, swallowing light and spilling it back in sharp angles. A copper patina pulses at the center—warm, flesh-like, yet metallic, reminiscent of sacred altars and surgical tools alike.

Pale green veins of verdigris snake across the copper fields, as if time itself tries to reclaim the flesh from the greed of human gaze. The center cavity gapes open—a wound, an invitation. From its edges, fingers emerge, sculpted and slick, caught between reaching and recoiling. They are fragmented, partial bodies, each digit a witness to touch both wanted and unwelcome.

A tongue pushes forward from another cavity, glistening copper as if mid-speech or mid-plea. It is sensual and monstrous all at once—a visceral reminder of how language, consumption, and lust devour each other.

Gold chains cascade from the flanks of the piece like fragile drapes, their delicate shimmer a cruel contrast to the brutality beneath. They echo the cages we build for beauty—the gilded prisons of curated feeds and staged ecstasies.

Red accents pulse across the grid—flashes of blood, or warning signals, or the flicker of recording lights in unseen cameras. Each square, each color, each elevation on the surface is a rhythm of surveillance and spectacle.

This piece is a requiem for innocence and a dirge for privacy. It speaks of defloration not merely as the tearing of flesh, but as a societal obsession with “first times,” with youth, with the pornographic hunger to witness the unseen. It is a shrine to the age of endless voyeurism, where holes become altars and eyes the new priests.

Defloration stands as both a monument and an accusation. It demands that we look—and asks whether we can ever again look away.