What is “the feminine” when it escapes identity?

This work stands as the grounding chord in the cycle Becoming Form.

A figure lies neither collapsed nor posed, but mid-becoming …emerging through layers of oil, stick, and pastel. The torso, nude but not exposed, is not for viewership but for invocation.

This is not anatomy - it is memory.

The feminine here is not bound by gender, nor fixed in body. It arrives as vibration - as if the canvas had heard something before the viewer did.

There is a wound, there is a breast, there is ground and motion. But above all, there is listening - to the self, to change, to freedom that does not announce itself but hums beneath.

The textures are not decoration, they are residue. The reds, not violent, but necessary. The gesture, not expressionist, but relational.

In this space, figuration is porous. The lines escape. The colors murmur into each other. And the body, once held tight by language or role, becomes a note -

Collapse marks a threshold.

It depicts the breakdown of a symbolic structure: the bond between a woman’s body and the identity society assigned to it.
This bond - based on reproductive function, youthful appearance, and desirability - begins to collapse at the moment of menopause. The painting is not an emotional response to this collapse. It is a record of its effects.

The figure is anatomically distorted. The weight of the lower body pulls downward. The torso folds in on itself. The colors are minimal. There is no unity in the gesture.
The elements do not speak to each other. They coexist without coherence - just like the psychic state after the collapse.

The work refers directly to psychoanalytic theory: particularly to Jacqueline Schaeffer’s model of post-menopausal subjectivation. She proposes that the end of reproductive function, and the withdrawal of the gaze of the Other, can create the conditions for a new feminine position - but only if the old structure is first dismantled.

This is the dismantling.
There is no mourning visible here -that happens later.
This is the architecture of disidentification.

The central form came to me not as a body, but as a kind of presence -
a witnessing energy.
Feminine. Magical.
Something that sees without needing eyes.

The masculine figure - repeated in two postures - is also me, in a way.
One part of me wanted to be seen.
The other wanted to hide.

This painting isn’t about confrontation.
It’s about the exhaustion of exposure - the quiet tension of being looked at for so long that you start to lose your own image.

But here, the gaze is returned.
Not violently.
Just enough to say:
“I see you seeing me.
 And I stay here.”

A body neither veiled nor exposed , simply present.

Held upright not in resistance, but in quiet possession of its own ground.

A solitary figure rises - not in defiance, but in a grounded assertion of presence.
There is no theatricality, no excess. Just the posture of being: vertical, composed, and dignified.
The feminine form here is not idealized, nor shattered. It exists between vulnerability and poise - as a monument to quiet endurance.
“La Verticale” speaks of a strength that does not seek to dominate but to remain - in space, in time, in self.

Please, Don’t Look is not about modesty.
It is a refusal of exposure — quiet, unfinished, fully human.

The figure does not present herself. She turns.
Her back remains, but her presence recedes.
This is not a portrait of strength.
It is a gesture of survival -
a way of keeping the last breath of privacy.

There is no drama.
Just the soft architecture of distance.

La Maestra Interior is not a portrait of power - it is a moment of inward transmission.
Her hands are lifted not to lead, but to listen, to draw out the resonance of something deeply internal.
She is conducting not sound, but silence.
Not an orchestra, but herself.


This painting belongs to the heart of Becoming Form: where figuration softens into vibration, and the body becomes a space for unseen rhythms.

A breast remembered, re-formed -not in nostalgia but in voltage. The figure holds itself in swells and dissonances, ripples of line as if the skin remembers sound.

Línea Viva explores the tension between embodiment and sensation — the places where form dissolves into flux and yet insists on presence.
In this work, anatomical suggestions collapse into abstract resonance. The central torso, tender and unshielded, emerges not as a monument but as a transmitter. Marks ripple like frequencies — red arcs, electric yellows, sonic wounds.

A body re-drawn in pulse.
The line lives - it trembles, breaks, comes back. It’s the trace of what refuses to vanish.

This work opens onto an inner landscape where folds of self resemble terrain — nervous roots, flowering marks, signals moving beneath the surface.
The line flickers between gesture and growth.
It draws not what is, but what becomes.

Libertad is a painting of emergence.
The raised hands are not asking; they are receiving.
The green tendrils, the almost-floral limbs - they rise out of a field that was once dense and coded.
The strange blues across the canvas echo something familiar to those who’ve entered rooms behind heavy doors, covered in sterile aprons, seen by numbers, poked, scanned, reassured by voices that never really knew your name.

But this moment is not about that.
It is about the next breath.
The one where you come back to your skin, your pulse, your own rhythm.
The one where you step into air again - thinner than water, sharper, freer.

Done does not illustrate suffering; she paints what breaks through it.

Libertad speaks to everyone who has emerged - not untouched, but alive.

It is for all those who’ve surfaced from procedures, regimens, cycles, and claimed what was never fully taken: presence. 

Flora Incarnata traces the moment when form is not yet fully formed — but already charged with life. It is a vegetal becoming: not a flower, not a body, not a breast, not a seed - but something that remembers all of them.

The central mass pulses in chlorophyll greens and carnal reds - a flesh that grows, not to be seen, but to exist.

In Flora Incarnata, growth is not metaphor - it’s vibration. The body and the botanical merge, sprouting inwards and outwards. There is no final image - only the insistence to become.