The Weaver is me. With a head full of imagination, an open heart with a nest for those who want to stay, but with scissors ready to cut toxic relationships. You can see my inner child, she is always present, ready to play and be surprised by the magic of life. Her wings are my mother's bridal headdress. The eggs in the ovaries are the arrangement of pearl flowers that my grandmother had on the table. From there comes a baby, the son I have, represented by the rag doll I played with when I was a baby. The Weaver has hooks with which she catches the fishes (the opportunities that life gives her).
This artwork is full of symbolism and personal memories.