

Suspended in a field of quiet paper, a jewel-toned gramophone rises like a relic of touch and breath, its lacquered facets catching light as if sound itself had been crystallized. Above it, a dim, filmstrip-like memory band unfurls—grainy, half-erased figures leaning toward one another—suggesting that listening is also an act of recollection, a needle tracing the grooves of intimacy and loss. The composition’s vast negative space becomes a chamber of reverberation, where the bright horn speaks into absence and the past plays on, muted yet insistent. In this tender tension between vivid object and fading image, the work frames nostalgia not as comfort, but as a fragile technology for keeping presence alive.







