This piece began as a tray. A vessel. A resting place.
But somewhere along the way, she grew breasts, crumpled edges, and a kind of theatrical discomfort — the kind you feel when your face says “I'm fine” but your body screams otherwise.
I’m interested in how women’s inner states are often flattened into surfaces — manicured, polished, acceptable. This object rejects that pressure. Its glaze is chaotic. Its form is anxious. There’s no stable base, no perfect angle — only the suggestion of vulnerability disguised as design.
By embedding light into this lopsided shell, I wanted to play with the idea of illumination as exposure. The lamp hardware is removable — meaning she can return to being a useless tray, or stay awkwardly aglow, baring her parts to the world.
A study in bodily confusion.
