Walking in the Mist

Not every wound can be seen. Some lie deep in the body, in memory, in years of silence. They do not disappear. They become part of the body—like skin, like breath—and at times we walk on, unaware of what we carry.

“Walking in the Mist” is a passage through the blurred zones of life—where memory and reality, body and spirit, wound and renewal intertwine like fog. No clear boundaries. No clear redemption. Only the persistent presence of pain, and the ways in which we continue to live alongside it.

Trauma is not only an event; it shapes how one continues to exist afterward. The line between what has passed and what remains grows indistinct. There is only a state of vagueness, where we keep moving forward—carrying unnamed wounds.
I work with fabric, roots, and earth—materials both fragile and resilient. At times they conceal, at times they reveal.

Sometimes they are traces, places, or roots; sometimes fragments already broken. Each work is a surface held in tension between rawness and radiance, between disorder and a fleeting stillness. All embody a form of wound—neither repeated nor displayed, yet present.

There is nothing to name.
No pain is ever erased.
It lingers—fading, but never gone.
And we keep walking.