Surrender

She leans forward, arms spread not in defeat but in release.

A body made of wire, of tension and gaps, she is held together by what is absent as much as by what remains. Every line bends, not broken—choosing gravity instead of resisting it.

She does not collapse.

She offers herself to the fall.

There is courage in this posture: the quiet bravery of letting go. The wire twists echo strain, effort, endurance—yet the gesture says something softer. Surrender here is not weakness; it is trust. Trust in balance. Trust in the moment after effort ends.

Light passes through her ribs, her limbs, her core, reminding us that strength does not require solidity. She exists between forces—control and release, tension and freedom—caught in the exact instant where resistance becomes peace.

“Surrender” is the act of opening one’s hands when holding on no longer serves.

She does not ask to be saved.

She has already chosen flight.