The ribcage as terrarium. Lungs held behind transparent walls like specimens too precious to touch, too fragile to expose to open air. The artist encases the body's most vital organs in something between protection and display,pink roses growing through lung tissue, the spine visible as dark vertebrae climbing toward a barely-there skull.

This is what it feels like to be seen through. The glass ribcage doesn't hide; it refracts. Every breath becomes visible, every bloom deliberate. The flowers aren't decoration,they're what grows when you tend to your own fragility, when you stop apologizing for needing careful handling.

There's a loneliness here, but also a kind of defiant beauty. The body suspended in darkness, wrapped in its own translucent armor, cultivating softness in a structure designed to protect the heart. This is self-preservation as art form. This is learning that being delicate and being strong were never opposites.