About the work

The chair has been made for an airport lounge, or perhaps an office lobby – a place of transient waiting, not of permanence. Yet here it is, slumped into the deep, unyielding indentations that speak of long, settled hours. This object, designed for fleeting moments of rest, has become a vessel for a kind of enduring stasis, collecting the weight of an unmoving life. The cold ramen, still in its plastic bowl, is another marker of this temporal shift, a meal intended to be quick and hot, stretched into something room temperature and forgotten. There's a particular kind of resignation here, a quiet acceptance that a thing will be what it must be, not what it was made to be. The chair doesn't complain, nor does the ramen; they simply are.