Objects bearing relief records of lost, yet again rediscovered objects. Hidden in nooks and corners. Resting in peace and silence, far from the world we know. To walk and slow down, perhaps even get lost for a moment. You will nd them in moments when both expected and unexpected are to be found. Shells, bones, roots or perhaps even a key. The objects, carrying traces of found items, are small amorphous, seemingly living creatures. They take in the objects I have found as their own.
The objects themselves are glass, so we are aware of their fragility and have a natural need to protect them. They resemble small bodies. We comfort them and defend them against the world, because our inner peace could shatter the moment we stop caring for them. Our peace and quiet sitting in the cup of our palms. Longing only for a bit of tenderness. Would you take care of a small piece of glass with the promise of peace? Why then do we fail to take care of our inner calm, which is the same being with the same promise, deserving more of our kindness and attention?
