Vortex does not represent a movement:
he's holding it back.

The material seems to bend upon itself, as if an internal force—invisible but constant—had carved the marble from within, hollowing it out without ever breaking it. The curve arises slowly, controlled, and grows like a breath taking shape. Nothing is sudden, nothing is decorative.

The marble, crossed by light, loses its inertia.
It becomes a sensitive surface, a threshold, a silent tension.
The mass does not rotate: listen.
The void does not open: it concentrates.

Watching Vortex, time slows down.
Every change in light alters the perception of the form, as if the work were never identical. It's a sculpture that doesn't present itself in one piece, but asks the gaze to wander around it, to pause, to wait.

There is no expressive gesture, there is no desire to amaze.
There is measure.
There is a discipline of silence that transforms movement into an inner state.

Vortex is a shape that does not lead elsewhere.
It leads inside.