The work questions humanity’s need to legitimize existence, contrasting it with non-human beings, who inhabit the world without justifying their presence. Conflict exists, but it arises from primary needs, not ideological constructs.

The symbols on the banners represent seven OUTcasts, seven marginalized bodies, seven entities deemed superfluous. Yet their ecological role is undeniable, while other species are favored through human-imposed selection.

The title references Pax Romana—a fabricated peace sustained through domination—and reflects on the contemporary paradox of a humanity that draws boundaries not only between itself and others but also between who has the right to exist and who does not.

A child’s drawing becomes the catalyst: a three-year-old, both fascinated and frightened by the current, embodies the ambivalence of our relationship with the ecosystem—one of visceral dependence and fear.

Sea and human share an emotional anatomy, shifting between calm and rage, nourishment and threat. The sea’s rhythmic pulse echoes the heartbeat; human blood, salty and ferrous, is a liquid memory of the ocean. The sea is a passage, an ally, and a force of dissolution—embracing and erasing us at once.

A drawing, pierced by embroidery, is anchored to an oar—a symbol of humanity’s attempt to master the waters. Lace and a crown evoke the sea’s regality, alongside the reverence and submission it commands.

An anthropomorphic fish, immersed in murky waters, fragments into three panels. Scraps of an old vocabulary layer the concept of linguistic identity, while neologisms of digital jargon emerge through embroidery, drawing a dialogue between past and present.

Ephemeral terms such as cringe, troll or bro condense meanings into a code inaccessible to previous generations, mirroring the speed and synthesis of online culture. A lexicon in constant mutation, between evolution and loss, expansion and dissolution of linguistic memory.

A synecdoche of a fragmented and reconstructed female body, the breast is constrained in a metal cage: not refuge, but display. A colorful, lace-adorned structure, reminiscent of fashion-imposed bodices and exotic bird aviaries, where the female image is domesticated, aestheticized, made the object of gaze and desire.

On the lid of the cage, a crown encompasses a lead bullet, set like a jewel. A menacing eye, suspended like a blade over the exposed body.

Natural events, in their primordial power, are now filtered, instrumentalized, rewritten.

A metallic vortex, in the first layer, evokes the informational chaos that overpowers perception, confusing reality and narrative. Subsequent layers deform the same event through altered perspectives, up to the last layer: a wire mesh, an illusory barrier that promises protection but separates from truth.

The imposed pregnancy becomes subtraction of choice, an act of domination engraved in the weave of the body.

The embroidery, imprisoned in a glass jar, oscillates between containment and visibility. Suffering is exposed, but unreachable: observed, never really understood. The jar becomes a social showcase, where female pain is reduced to ornament, acknowledged but unheard.

The work questions the viewer about the concept of control, overcoming the victim-victimizer dichotomy: here coercion extends to the bond itself, where power is exercised over the body, birth, and freedom of the other.

The embroidery rests in a crystal and silver vase, container of the unspeakable. The metal label, empty, seals its mystery: meaning escapes, resists definition.

Lifting the lid, an eye is revealed-scrutinized, motionless, surrounded by rays of light. Inside, a milky glass sphere orbits incessantly, wandering bulb of absolute vision.

The doily, born square, arranges itself into a rhombus: from a stable figure to a fluid, adaptable form, in perpetual transformation. A balance that becomes movement, as every higher entity is meant to be.

An iris unfolds in the embroidery, a symbol of trust and wisdom. On it, an insect alights-once a caterpillar, perhaps fed by the plant itself. Parasite or part of the cycle? Man’s eternal misunderstanding of his surroundings is reflected in the act of separating, poisoning, fighting what he depends on.

Embroidery, enclosed in the box that amplifies its meaning, becomes a microcosm. A fragile balance, a moment of respite between the creatures of the earth, where connection between living beings is the only possible way to continuity.

As in the short story, the opera is structured on two parallel and opposing planes. Both embroidery and custody are mirrored and equivalent; neither belief prevails over the other but they interpenetrate, as in the Chinese concept of yin and yang, merging and giving rise to a continuous cycle in which they coexist.

In a conflict there is no absolute ethical response; rebelling or yielding are not conflicting choices but part of the same process of transformation. Reality is neither static nor binary, but a system of interdependent forces that alternate, merge and redefine without ever crystallizing into a single truth.

The mother is an archetype of contradictions: belonging and identity, memory and loss. It is the first intimate relationship we know, and perhaps the most intense; only through a lifelong journey of separation is it possible to see the person who fathered us for who she truly is.

The 21 embroidered fish fragment their personality into instinct, resistance, conformity and fragility. They are elusive memories, impossible to retain, like specimens to be preserved in test tubes.

The box collects heterogeneous and symbolic elements: sharp objects, delicate materials, animal remains with ritual value, everyday amulets. An intimate and chaotic archive that attempts to contain the irrepressible. The title of the work comes from a familiar nursery rhyme, repeated like a formula for protection. It is the remnant of a magical thought, the echo of a tireless force that clashes with unrealized desires.

“Who’s born pisces will find their way / with luck in hand, they’ll seize the day / With strength and nerve, they claim their prize/ sharp of mind and keen of eyes / Yet wealth amassed may weigh them down / if fear should make them sink and drown / So guard your blood, your roots, your fate / some treasures come, but some must wait”.

A chaotic and obsessive accumulation, where each object is a fragment of existence impossible to discard.

A candy wrapper, a key, a broken toy soldier: relics insignificant to anyone, but open doors to personal worlds. By the same logic, the candid fabric is contrasted with the baroque wrapper, a hyperstructured container full of drawers from which mnemonic traces emerge. A system that attempts to control the uncontrollable, oscillating between order and bewilderment.

He wears the garb of omnipotence, but underneath he remains a wayward child, struggling against natural chaos, unable to accept its deep order.

In its attempt to dominate everything, control turns into a prison: invisible but omnipresent, it crushes freedom and suffocates biology itself. Absolute power becomes a gilded cage, an illusory supremacy that backfires on those who wield it.

True strength lies in surrender to imperfection, in accepting the flow of things without opposing it, finding in spontaneity a more authentic balance.

Like the poem, the embroidery and the box evoke a rebirth: a conscious awakening after a long hibernation, an explosion of light and color. It is a hymn to spring, to the cyclical nature of life that, after each close, renews itself with unbroken strength.

The embroidery flower opens like a firework, while on the box a winged figure announces resurrection with the sound of its rattle. At the bottom, industrious insects clear away the past, preparing the space for what is to come.

A symbol of splendor and prosperity since antiquity, the crocus holds a double value: matter and spirit, well-being and transformation. Its flower, inspired by a 16th-century engraving, embodies the promise of growth, an ancestral need to rise.

The box also amplifies this momentum: vivid colors, metallic applications, a plaque salvaged from an old elevator. A further signal of the urgency to rise, beyond the visible limit.

The floral embroidery and objects in the box celebrate the joy of living: safety pins jingling on the edge, layers of vibrant paint, coins, leaves, seeds, wood. In the center, a mirror on a red satin cushion, resembling a full moon, reflects the alternation between depth and lightness.

An exhortation to play, to wonder, to surrender confidently to the current of life.

Each element amplifies its structure: the elaborate scattering of a shirt, the threads branching out like synapses, the modular repetitiveness of the chickpeas at the bottom, the clinking of test tubes marking time. In the center, the embroidery of the passion flower: a labyrinth of petals and stamens, whose scent envelops and disorients.

An immersion in the intricate mechanism of memory, between order and vertigo.

The sentence, embroidered on thick webbing fashioned from the edge of a vintage cotton bed sheet, is spoken by the narrator’s voice, struck by the knowledge that every word of his conversation with the protagonist will remain forever etched in his memory, as if carved in stone.

The act of embroidering also transforms the words into something immanent, almost eternal, while the mother-of-pearl buttons, sewn along the webbing, amplify their permanence, hauntingly reiterating the cyclical nature of time. A reminder to choose words carefully, like a secular prayer to memory.

The porcelain tureen, container of the embroidery, evokes an ancient womb, both fragile and strong, recalling the familiar desinare. A metallic navel, from which a rose branch runs like an umbilical cord, connects the fetus to the outside world.

It is a symbol of the best part of our world: memory, care, the purest feelings of being human. We live in a time when we are in danger of losing core values, such as family, courage and selflessness, threatened by power, money and the supremacy of a few.

The future, like the fetus, is pure, free of shadows, and it is up to us to preserve it. The threads woven around her figure protect a muffled uterine environment, reflecting the collective memory to be passed on. The colors of red, pink and orange evoke the light filtering from the womb, a symbol of exchange with the world.

The large-scale embroidery confronts us with a living scene that we witness.

The embroidery map becomes a tool for charting a course, a means of achieving defined goals. The box and objects evoke the thrust of the engines, the stench of naphtha and lubricant, the noises of machinery, and the salt spray that corrodes metal, particularly the atmosphere of the engine room, the “ditch.”

The voyage is meditation: not a drifting, but a collaboration between man and sea for a goal. The abandonment of mental control occurs through manual labor, which brings us back to the present. Physical involvement and attention to action reconnect us to our roots, giving us mental clarity and a sense of continuity with a larger human tradition.

The storm, far from being destructive, becomes an ally, revealing the beauty of existence. The sea becomes a mother, welcoming and propelling, cradling the castaway on the fragile makeshift raft.

Adrift, surrounded by salvaged objects, now makeshift amulets, the lonely voyage becomes an experience of beauty, a path of rediscovery, in which the power of nature offers shelter and salvation. The embroidery map is not a path of return, but an archive of experiences and discoveries, traces of a new journey, in which time does not measure distance, but change.

This irresistible call urges us to come out into the open, to follow instinct, to shape the unspeakable.

The wooden branch, fashioned in the shape of a bird, watches over the egg enclosed in the box, a symbol of unexpressed potential, of a beginning that has yet to manifest. The crack on the lid, repaired with beeswax using the Kintsugi technique, warns us that ignoring our vocation opens a rift in the soul, which can only be healed by listening to the inner voice.

Birth and dissolution intertwine in a continuous process: nothing disappears, everything regenerates. The box, covered with moss and bark, recalls a dry tree, a fragment of nature in metamorphosis. In its form, the echo of a bird skeleton: a messenger of time, marking the return of matter to the earth.

The dermaskeleton of a sea urchin, the subject of the embroidery, is wrapped in fabric like a host, a reliquary of a pagan religion. The box collects materials that seem to be offered by the waves, an Andean despacho to exorcise its fury and invoke its thaumaturgic power.

The salt encrusted on the lid, the texture of the fabric resembling fishing nets, the shells inside like eyes of an abyssal creature reinforce the link between mystery and devotion.

The needle etches the impalpable fabric, stretches it, tears it. The surface contracts under the force of the threads, the material undergoes and transforms. The embroidery flowers bend to the fury of the elements, while the box, violated by the branches, becomes a gap crossed by the wind. The feathered seeds do not resist: they rely on movement, they disperse, they become transport.

The crown, the last relic of power, is no longer a symbol of domination, but of surrender. Only those who relinquish control can fully inhabit the world.

Water becomes a metaphor: it lets itself pass through, it takes on all forms, but in its unstoppable flow it excavates, transforms, shapes even rock. Knowing how to slip away from what does not matter is an act of awareness, a balancing act between presence and detachment.

The transparency of glass refracts this dual nature: fragility and elasticity, exposure and resistance. Each element becomes a symbol of conscious surrender, an adaptation without losing substance. Koi carp, emblems of wisdom and fortune in Japanese tradition, embody the very motion of the work: they cross the currents lightly, unopposed, but never lost.