



A cool, muted wall dominates the scene like a horizon of restraint, while taut wires stitched across its surface suspend small, weathered papers—each one a fragile testimony caught between exposure and erasure. The solitary blue rocking chair, set apart in a warm band of floor, becomes a proxy for the absent witness: a place for waiting, remembering, or grieving, rendered poignant by its stillness. Subtle scrawls and ghosted marks read as palimpsests of lived experience, suggesting how private messages become public artifacts when pinned to the architecture of containment. The quiet paper airplane at the threshold introduces a tender countercurrent—an improvised flight of imagination pressed low beneath the weight of boundaries.







