She stands caught between what once was and what never opened. Two towering relics press in—silent, cold, immovable.
There is no forward, no breakthrough. Only the weight of being held, judged, and struck, again and again.
The Third Strike is a portrait of endurance without momentum, of a woman suspended in a system that demands her stillness while delivering its verdicts. The blows don’t need to be loud to land. And still, she remains—caught, but unbroken.
Between 1…2…3…STRIKE, there is no swing, no miss—only the certainty of another blow. This is not about loss. It’s about the impossible position women occupy: wedged in systems built to contain, not propel. Not shattered, not rising—just bracing. And yet, somehow, still standing.
Turning slowly, "Gyre, The Turning Point" refuses a single perspective, instead presenting a restless cycle of gazes. The work recalls a compass, a clock, and an oracle all at once, echoing the unstable balance of a world caught mid-rotation. Gyre becomes both a countdown marker and a pivot: a reminder that time is not only passing, but turning — and with each turn, a choice of direction looms.
Small metal remnants hang in uneasy suspension, circling on threads so thin they nearly vanish. Their restless orbit suggests the weight of time held just above collapse — a fragile system turning until its tether gives way. A portrait of days left hanging, each one precarious, provisional, and subject to forces beyond control. The countdown is not a steady march but a spinning drift: unstable, exposed, and nearing its inevitable break.