Remnants
Fragile like the skin of time, these ceramic fragments emerge as relics of a gesture, of a form that does not seek perfection but survival. They are remnants, indeed. Traces left by a passage, a contact, an abandonment.
The surface—cracked or eroded—speaks of what has been lost and what endures. The fissures become maps, the textile imprints a memory of the body and the hands. The white, at times interrupted by faint traces of color, evokes what time has erased but which persists as a visual echo, a silent testimony.
These works do not tell stories, they whisper. They do not shout meanings, but open spaces for listening. They present themselves as partial findings, unclassifiable artifacts that resist the erosion of oblivion. The title — Remnants — is both a declaration and a question: what remains today of what we once were? What remains of a gesture, a habit, a presence?
In their apparent stillness, these forms seem to keep transforming. They bear the weight of what is no longer, yet also carry the subtle strength of a beauty that does not demand centrality. A beauty found in worn edges, in absences, in voids.
They are not finished works: they are what survives the work itself.