TATE

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There are moments when the weight of absence is so profound that it feels as though the air itself has been carved out leaving only silence. TATE emerged from one of these silences, a stillness that was not empty but unbearably full. She was not created, she was confessed. At her core she holds the echo of a voice that no longer answers, a light that lingers even after the stars have dimmed. She is both presence and void, a tether to a love that continues to guide even when unseen. 

 

The act of creating her was not an escape but a confrontation. Every curve, every polished surface is a dialogue between grief and gratitude, between the ache of loss and the quiet solace of memory. She is not an object, she is a question and the answer, if it exists, is written in the golden reflection of her visor, a mirror not for faces but for souls.

 

What I didn’t realize at first, was that in shaping her, i was shaping myself, needed to understand what it means to live with absence. Every stroke of the hand was both a goodbye and a hello, a surrender to the inevitability of love’s permanence. In her stillness, she speaks what I cannot, that to carry the weight of memory is to carry both burden and blessing.

 

But TATE does not belong to me alone. She carries my story, yes, but she transcends it. She becomes a bridge, a vessel that transforms personal grief into a shared emotion, into a universal language of connection. She reminds us that even in the deepest void, love endures, quietly, profoundly, infinitely.

 

When I see her now, i see not just the pain of loss but the beauty of what remains. In that, she is not a sculpture but a gift. Offered her to the world so I could let him go.

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