GARDEN SERIES N.10 / 2026

SERIE GARDEN 2026

There are bodies that do not end at the skin.

This series begins with a simple question: what if a man's interior bloomed outward? Each drawing is an inhabited garden —a torso that is a flowerpot, a back that is a stem, hands from which petals emerge as if to prove that something, inside, was still alive.

The male body, here, is neither fortress nor territory to conquer. It is soil. Something cultivated slowly, that needs light and patience, that also withers if no one waters it. The flowers born from these figures don't decorate: they reveal. They say what flesh alone cannot.

There is solitude in these gardens. The solitude of being full of beauty with no one to show it to. Of blooming anyway, even when no one is watching. Every flower that breaks through the skin is also a wound disguised as tenderness —something that hurt while growing, something that insisted on coming out regardless.

And there is melancholy, the knowledge that every garden has a season, that what blooms also falls. But even in that falling there is a kind of beauty that asks no permission: that of a body that chose not to hide what was growing inside it.

GARDEN 2026 is an inventory of garden-men: solitary, in bloom, on the verge of shedding their leaves or freshly sprouted. A reminder that vulnerability can also be a landscape, and that sometimes the only way to survive winter is to let something bloom anyway.