About the work

The world is full of things that refuse to be erased. We try, of course. We pave over, we build on, we smooth down, we polish clean. We impose a kind of order, a relentless, gleaming surface that suggests no history, no future beyond its present state of perfect nullity. But then the tiny, stubborn things find their way back. A crack appears. A seam buckles. And from that small rupture, a different kind of persistence asserts itself, a quiet, almost imperceptible declaration that the ground beneath has not forgotten its own nature. It’s not a battle, not really. More like an unfolding, a slow unfurling of what was always there, waiting for its moment to simply be.