Beneath a glass cloche, the faces of broken dolls look back at us.
They emerge through a veil of translucence, their mutilated heads holding expressions caught somewhere between childhood innocence and quiet ruin.
The title, borrowed from a poem by Gabriela Mistral, carries a tragic gentleness.
These queens no longer dream. They are stilled inside a crystal chamber, suspended in the afterimage of what childhood once promised.
The cloche is both refuge and limit.
It shelters what remains, yet draws a line that cannot be crossed, keeping the viewer outside a fragile interior where beauty and decay breathe together.
Cheap plastic, tangled hair, the soft violence of time; Each element leans between care and unease.
The work speaks of time passing, of expectations left incomplete, of the fragile remains of a shared belief that something pure might endure.
Without leaning on horror or surrendering to nostalgia, the piece asks for clarity.
Here, memory takes on weight and texture,
and beauty persists—not as consolation, but as a quiet act of resistance
