Series · 2026 — 2027
For this series I use driftwood I find in nature, in places that hold meaning. I bind the pieces together with metal wire in an attempt to resurrect them into a new meaning, the way we humans so often do, reassigning sense to the things in our lives to give them life through stories.
It takes a whole web of ideas and stories to hold that new story together. In the end, the wood and the wire both decay and disappear, and there's nothing we can do to keep them alive forever.
Nor should we.
(imprint)
This piece comes from a period when I was chasing other people's dreams, desperate for a borrowed kind of fulfillment that was never mine. The branches came from a tree trapped inside the inner courtyard of my apartment building in Gothenburg, Sweden, and looking at it, I saw myself.…
Safe inside the surrounding walls, and at the same time caged by them, unable to grow outward, sacrificing authenticity.
(Sun)
The sun has been worshipped across countless cultures for thousands of years, and in Anatolia that reverence runs especially deep. One very sunny day, sitting on my porch, these pieces I'd collected a while back called on me to put them together.…
What came out was an ever-watchful eye of the sun, the one that keeps life alive.
(Turtle)
The driftwood in this one came from a forest beside my family's land that was cut down to build a bypass. We were hiking through what was left, the ruin of it, and I gathered these pieces later.…
I bound them into a turtle, an apology offered back to the land and a way to keep its memory alive. A turtle because they carry longevity, the long memory the forest was denied.
End of series
