The emotions I had in mind when conceiving this work embrace that deep need to feel desired, speaking of a real emotional void, a high price to pay for independence and freedom.

I began drawing, sliding the fear of commitment into a prison of strong and harsh shadows as I visualized an imaginary bedroom scene.

That fear of going through experiences that waste time or simply living through unpleasant stories leads a woman to choose solitude as her best companion.

A solitude that contrasts with two bodies ignited by an unrestrained passion.

I chose a man as the protagonist to tell the story of a woman. He, in the shadows of a room, created by shadows that intertwine the forms of his body—his bare torso and deep gaze—embodies a game her mind repeats every night.

The growing desire in the passionate touch of one body against another can be like a fever that cures the most severe illness. One that consumes her, making her forget her fear of commitment and lose herself in a story that could leave her feeling empty.

Her mind drifts between the temptation to surrender completely and the decision to continue embracing her solitude, but inside, the desire roars fiercely, creating a whirlwind of fire that only he can extinguish.

She can’t find in her mind the answer that will lead her to the certainty of whether this is something she has lived or deeply longed for. Yet what she feels is as tangible as the softness of the fabric he lets fall.

Tell me, have you ever desired to explore someone’s skin, losing all reason and surrendering to the most intense desire?

“I Still Breathe Your Skin” intensely reflects the internal struggle between desire and solitude, as well as the risk of surrendering to a passion that could either heal or leave deeper scars.

This work is… an act of my boldness and a confession.