Old vinyl records hold a certain magic—objects of nostalgia we cling to, fragments of the past too precious to forget. Their grooves whisper memories, echoes of voices and melodies that once shaped us. But time moves forward, indifferent. The clock embedded in the work is a quiet reminder that no matter how much the world evolves, some pressures remain the same. The biological clock still ticks, a silent rhythm beneath progress, reminding women of expectations they never signed up for. And then, there’s lust—raw, disruptive, impossible to ignore. The pierced nipples embody this tension, the collision of desire and obligation, freedom and restraint. A cycle we inherit, resist, and redefine.