About the work

She found the leg in a skip behind the old department store and dragged it home, the plastic surprisingly light until the last flight of stairs. It sat in the corner of her studio for weeks, a silent witness to a dozen abandoned projects. Anya hated flowers – too much fuss, too quick to die – but this single hibiscus, fallen from the neighbor’s bush, was perfect. She pinned it with the precision of a surgeon, admiring the shocking pink against the pale, almost-skin, knowing it would wilt by morning. She wondered if the fan would make it last longer, or if its cool breath would just hasten the inevitable. She still doesn't know why she bothered to keep the leg.