Dry salt on skin, a memory.
I am wounded all around. No sign of blood, just floods of pain; counting scars in darkness.
And then I look around; rays piercing through the veil. It seems my mind has played a game. Why was I so sad, before?
In dim light, much can be seen if one decides to look
Sadness I Fold
This body of work started in the intimacy of my bedroom where, after days of crying, I picked up the tissues that were holding my dried up tears. I began to make a small sculptural piece to be hung from my ceiling, in an attempt to transform the heaviness of overwhelming sadness into a structure of lightness; to find a gesture of beauty within the struggles of my mind.
Depression is non linear. Unsettling thoughts of self-doubt are pierced through by moments of clarity, before fading into oceans of darkness again.
Similarly, my work oscillates between elements of weight and weightlessness. The waste material holding my bodily fluids is in a constant flux, while I attempt to unfold the potentiality it holds within. After a period of creation, I rework said tissues into small sheets of hand-made paper to be preserved inside a hand-crafted frame. Pain may not disappear through this process, however, it starts to loose saturation.
In my work, I consider vulnerability as an opening for connectivity and strive to invite others into a safe space for collective healing.
Sadness is a taste: dry and sharp.