A Wound That Speaks [Endlich in die Augen schauen]

There are eyes we cannot meet, and words that strip us down to who we are not.

Part of us is born from that space. This sculpture does not confront. It remembers. Stillness between tension, recognition and loss. From the wound at its core—a single whole—emerges not blood, but memory. This is not where something ends. This is where something unnamed begins to speak. Gold-rimmed tears trace a line through ceramic skin. One eye sees the world; the other, only you. The silence between voice and listener is held like breath in bone.

It is not a symbol. It is the moment before understanding. Does recognition demand rupture? 
Or is it the gentlest thing we can offer—to let what we cannot hold finally be seen?

We do not speak of completion here.
It is an opening—subtle, deliberate—where the self gives way, not to destruction, but to emergence. Creation here is not loud. It does not force. It unfolds, layer by layer, like words that strip away everything false until only the essential remains.

The form bends slightly, not in defeat, but in the quiet labour of becoming.
A fine glaze catches the light where a golden seam runs—a trace of what was once withheld. The gaze it casts is not outward, but inward. Not searching, but recognising.

Not certainty shapes us, but the courage to be seen before we know who we are.

Is it a burden to be known? Or a kind of blessing?
The sculpture does not resolve the question.
It only invites it to remain, gently.

Details

• Moulded with clay
• Transparent glazed
• Gold antlers
• Mounted on a soapstone base
• golden ribbon
• Height: 55 cm