At the heart of Kupid, a tension takes form—intangible yet inescapable: the one between the measuring mind and the feeling heart. A conflict not resolved by a clear-cut choice, but transformed into presence: into listening, into suspension, into vulnerability.
Here, Kupid lays down his bow and arrows. He doesn’t lead love as blind fate, but contemplates it, inhabits it, questions it.
He is a quiet figure, pensive, head in hands, seated between two forces pulling him apart: on one side, the brain—symbol of control and rational analysis; on the other, a monumental heart—visceral, alive, overwhelming. And still, there is no perfect balance. The heart dominates the scene: larger, more present, more real. It doesn’t impose, doesn’t shout, but triumphs simply through its existence.
It is on the heart that Kupid leans, almost whispering what the heart already knows—before it is understood. The heart welcomes, supports, waits—and often, even when we ignore it, it decides for us.

Kupid doesn’t choose a side, but speaks softly of what the heart knows instinctively.
It’s an invocation for those who love while accepting the risk.
It is the collection for those who choose, every day, to be guided by what they feel—despite everything.
This collection celebrates the fragility of emotional choices, those moments when reason tries to assert itself but is drowned out by the intensity of desire.
Kupid tells the story of the triumph of pure love—the kind that emerges despite the brain’s efforts to rationalize, control, or contain it.
It is love that escapes control, that strikes suddenly, that burns in the early stages of a story, or in the younger seasons of life—when the heart is freer to speak, and we are more willing to listen.
A tangible sign of that fragile and powerful moment when feeling and thinking brush against each other, clash, and finally learn to coexist.
Because true love is never born from one side alone, but at the very point where the mind gives way—and the heart reveals itself.