Medusa Cries reimagines the myth of Medusa not as a figure of fear, but as one of suppressed voice and emotional rupture. Formed as a folding metal screen, the work functions both as a room divider and a fragmented portrait, its fluid line tracing the outline of a woman’s face while simultaneously suggesting separation, containment, and defence. The structure opens and closes, echoing the unstable boundaries between private and public, safety and exposure.

Referencing The Laugh of the Medusa, the work shifts from laughter to tears, foregrounding a quieter, more insidious form of expression. The suspended crystal teardrop becomes a moment of release—held, yet never fully falling—speaking to the ways emotion is often contained within the body. The blackened eyes, hollowed and fixed, return the gaze while refusing legibility.

Embedded within the work is a reflection on domestic violence: the home not as a site of comfort, but as a space where control, silence and vulnerability coexist. The screen becomes both barrier and witness, suggesting how violence is often hidden in plain sight, folded into the structures that are meant to protect. Here, the body becomes its own language, articulating what cannot be spoken, holding tension between fragility and resistance.