The work I create is often harsh, jagged, square, and cold. Art is both a healing process and an act of care, yet I have long questioned how that care can be fully reflected within the work itself. How can love, tenderness, and the sense of being held, qualities so intrinsic to the act of making, become embedded in the physical form of the piece?

I have always been drawn to old 1970s teak mirrors, their curved frames offering a softness that contrasts with my sharp, angular thoughts. There is something about their rounded edges that disrupts rigidity, transforming reflections into something fluid and forgiving. Inspired by this, I have been developing round frames to cradle my work, frames that do not contain or confine but instead embrace.

Curved, hugged, and pink, these frames offer a counterbalance to the roughness of my materials. Pink, fleshy, and human, they echo the warmth and intimacy of touch. The soft curves mimic the body, inviting an interaction that feels both personal and organic. There is a physicality to them, a sense of skin-like tactility that shifts the work from something purely visual to something that demands a deeper, almost visceral engagement.

They create a space that feels safe, an act of self-compassion built into the structure itself. They invite the viewer into a held experience, a moment of gentleness in contrast to the often raw realities my work explores. The contrast between the hardness of material and the softness of form speaks to the tension between protection and exposure, strength and vulnerability.

This framing is not just an aesthetic choice; it is an extension of the work’s meaning. It acknowledges the balance between resilience and surrender, between the need to guard and the desire to be seen. It is a reminder that art, like the body, deserves to be held with care.