It is here that the steel stilettos take form, works torn from matter, forged in fire and shadow.

The forge knows heavy silences, breaths cut short by exhaustion, the sound of the hammer striking iron like a refractory heart.

It sees what no gaze will ever witness.

The nights when doubt weighs heavier than steel.

The moments when the artist and the material confront one another in silence to bring presences into being.

Entire days surrendered to creation, where every gesture demands time, precision, and absolute discipline.

Here, inspiration is not a spark.

It is conquered, it is paid for, it is forged.

Around the anvil, presences emerge from fire and steel, as if the works themselves were forging their own birth.

The sculptor and his presences move forward together, until they enter the same world, where creation now seems to look back at the one who gave it life.

It remains.