What Stone Cannot Bear, What the Mirror Cannot Mend.

Installation · 2025

This stone is not silent, but it does not speak to us. It speaks to itself, to the echo trapped within it since its inception. It remembers its form before it was stone, before time coiled around it like tightening loops, before time itself fractured in its heart, leaving a void carved only by the weight of what it was meant to forget.

Within this cavity, mirrors have not shattered—they have fractured to see more, to rid themselves of the burden of a singular image. No face is complete here, no features expand without fracturing. The reflection itself resists being a mere copy; it flees its repetition, splits upon itself, maneuvers its wholeness to avoid being erased.

Memory is a wave that breaks upon the edges of things. It knows well that if it remains whole, it will fossilize, becoming a layered forgetfulness. So, it practices the oldest trick—fragmentation, shattering, dissolving into voids—to preserve its imprint. But at what moment does an imprint become heavier than the original? At what point does a reflection cease to be a mirror and become an abyss that swallows light? No archive survives unscathed. No memory remains intact without fractures.