Changing Homelands

A bulbous, fruit-like head—bruised with a wash of red—hovers over a procession of bare feet, turning the figure into a living vessel that carries an entire settlement within its translucent interior. The shallow tray held at the body’s center reads like a portable altar: patterned fields, a regimented row of watchful faces, and small domestic emblems compressed into a single plane, suggesting memory and labor arranged for inspection. Against the expansive white, the dense, creeping black mass at the right edge becomes an approaching unknown—an encroaching wall of time, threat, or erasure—casting the act of carrying culture into a quiet, precarious defiance. The work’s restrained palette and scratchy, granular mark-making give it the intimacy of a folktale diagram, where tenderness and anxiety coexist in the same careful inventory.