A To Z

Arranged like an alphabet primer yet punctured by eerily blank, embossed panels, this grid of small portraits turns childhood into an archive where memory is both tenderly preserved and conspicuously erased. Each vignette—children absorbed in play, labor, or quiet self-containment—floats in a pale field, the soft washes of color lending intimacy while the strict modular spacing imposes a museum-like distance. The alternating presence and absence reads as a meditation on who is granted visibility, how innocence is catalogued into typologies, and how the stories we expect to “complete” are often the ones withheld. In the cumulative rhythm of repetition, the work becomes less about individual children than about the systems that name, sort, and silence them.