Are We Disposable

My work often begins with what is left behind.
Fragments, residues, breath, soil, time — materials that linger quietly at the edges of attention. I gather them the way one would like to gather memories: delicately, without forcing their meaning, allowing them to speak at their own pace and in their own tone.

Found objects are not only physical things but the immaterial traces of living.
A breath suspended in the air.
A moment that resists erasure.
The slow accumulation of time on the surface of everything it touches.
Breath becomes a mark of presence — an intimate exchange between the body and the living systems that sustain it. Time settles like particles of dust, layering repetition, endurance, and care into the work. Soil carries the stories of places once inhabited and the ecologies that have shaped my work. Sweat becomes a pigment of effort. Gold becomes a gesture of attention — a way of honouring what is fragile, discarded, or overlooked.
I work between the transient and the enduring, between what is often taken for granted and what asks to be cared for. Each piece becomes a landscape: a small, radiant terrain where the disposable is reimagined, the forgotten is elevated, and the fragile is given space to breathe.
My practice moves through questions of care, residue, and ecological entanglement.
It asks how we live with what we leave behind — and how those remains live on within us.