A golden background, once radiant, is now consumed by darkness—tar spreading across its surface like the scars of history. At the centre, an open wound gapes, raw and visceral. It is not merely a symbol of pain, but of resilience, survival, and rebirth.

The wound, shaped like a vaginal opening, is not meant to be read in a sexual context but as a reference to birth amid destruction. In the aftermath of war and violence, people do not simply vanish; they endure. They carve out existence in the ruins, in the spaces left behind by conflict. Life persists even in devastation.

The contrast between gold and black, between suffering and transformation, mirrors the paradox of war’s aftermath—where trauma lingers, but so does the need to move forward. The textures of resin and fabric add depth, making the wound almost tangible, as if it continues to pulse, to breathe, refusing to close. Fear is inherent in destruction, but so is the will to survive. This piece is a testament to the human capacity to adapt, to find shelter within the very spaces meant to annihilate. It asks: Can pain itself become a home?