Footprints Of My Grandmother (The Weight of Memories)

A monumental wooden silhouette—part bicycle, part carriage—unfurls across the wall like a memory enlarged, its cut-out spokes and negative spaces letting the white room breathe through the body of the object. The alternating grains and checkerboard joins read as a quiet record of labor and repair, suggesting lineage and handwork more than speed, while the crisp shadows turn the piece into a second drawing that shifts with the light. Set beside a small wheelchair perched on a plinth and a text panel that reads like testimony, the work becomes a tender meditation on mobility and dependence—how vehicles carry not only bodies, but stories, dignity, and the fragile engineering of everyday survival.