A necklace bearing child-shaped figures, commonly worn as a symbol of motherhood. It hangs on the neck both as an intimate gesture and as a public declaration: I am a mother, I am present through the others my body has brought into the world. The object undergoes a deliberate process of erosion and disappearance. The original image was photographed, xeroxed, re-photographed, digitally processed, and finally laser-printed onto a black zinc plate. The children’s silhouettes are swallowed—not entirely erased, but left as traces, as visual noise, as residues.

This is not a nostalgic gesture but an almost forensic investigation—an image as scan, recovery, exposure of remains. I point to a broader cultural process in which maternal identity becomes a repetitive, public image, worn down until no face remains. This is not a maternal gaze but a cold, investigative one—like a laboratory technician dissecting an object that ceases to be symbolic and turns into a visual corpse under inspection.

The result is not an image but echoes: of intimacy turned into display, of memory processed, of a female body functioning not as subject but as display infrastructure.