Vanishing portrait.

A fragment of concrete, held within an iron frame. Incomplete. Unfinished. A memory, but not the whole story. Like something that once stood firm, now eroded by time, by distance, by everything left unsaid.

This piece is a remnant—of a love that never fully became, of a romance that dissolved before it could solidify. The weight of concrete mirrors the weight of emotions once carried, while the frame holds it together—just barely, as if trying to contain what is already slipping away. It is not a monument. It is what is left when love fades, when something once strong is reduced to a mere fragment of itself.

The white ink, stark against the rough surface, speaks of resentment, of words that linger but were never truly heard. It is a record of what was, but also of what was lost. The choice of material is deliberate—concrete, meant to endure, yet here it is broken, incomplete. Because not everything meant to last, does.

This work is not about longing; it is about acceptance. It is the realization that some things are not meant to be whole. Some stories exist only as fragments. And in that incompleteness, there is truth. What remains is not the love itself, but its echo—etched into memory, fading, yet never fully gone.