Forms touch each other and embrace each other. There is no way to fight the gravity. One thing will lie on top of other.
The cloth like skin takes the form of the flesh while thin plaster is being pored inside. Wounded flesh got stitching. The flow of liquid is heavy, there is nothing much you can control. But then it becomes solid and hard and you feel the warmth in your hands. And then it is cold and dry. You ask yourself Is it about those beautiful disgusting things? Is it all about flesh?
The perfect circle was dead. No matter from what side you look at it, it is all the same. The other little form touched it and suddenly it is all different, it offers you the complexity which seduces your eye. It has to grow from inside out. That is the way the nature creates the form. That is the way the artist wants to be.