Its smallness does not lessen its presence; it intensifies it.
The title—plain, almost naked—meets the roughness of the material in quiet opposition, opening the central paradox of the work: love as wound, tenderness as exposure.
The act of piercing rubber with a pin—simple, deliberate, repeated—becomes a ritual suspended between care and violence.
Each mark is a conflicted vow: the longing to come close entwined with the instinct to shield oneself.
Within this modest surface, an entire emotional landscape is compressed. Fragility is not weakness here, but a living force.
What appears broken becomes structure; what injures also sustains.
The interior, bristling with pins, trembles between attraction and defense. In the friction between softness and sharpness, warmth and cold, the contradictions of intimacy are given a body.
My Love does not depict emotion—it inhabits it.
It is at once a confession and a question, a private gesture that resonates as a shared language.
Its scale asks the viewer to lean in, to look slowly, attentively, as though seeing were already a form of touch.
In that closeness, the work reveals its quiet truth: that love can only exist by consenting to its own fragility.
