Dull ache, 2026

Dull Ache, 2026

Penetration, 2026

Silicone, georgian wool, canned cat food,

sawdust, wood, bamboo

Dimensions variable

Vessels, 2026

fuel feed line, sawdust, woodchip

400 °¡ 27 °¡ 45 cm (157 1/2 °¡ 10 5/8 °¡ 17 3/4

inches)

400 °¡ 110 °¡ 35 cm (157 1/2 °¡ 43 1/4 °¡ 13

3/4 inches)

penetration, 2026

Silicone, georgian wool, canned cat food,

sawdust, wood, bamboo

Dimensions variable

Some forms of violence resist the spectacle. They remain hidden until something breaks down, or until one has unwittingly had more than it could have been endured.

Any enclosed space utilizes materials that eventually remain concealed to set the inside and the outside apart. But what happens upon direct, raw encounter?

Fiberglass works its way through the skin; dust settles within the lungs; fumes from toxic adhesives drift across confined spaces. And so it comes to pass that absorption precedes

awareness. The body continues to carry the effects of materials even after they are no longer exposed to them. Something becomes a part of the body without announcing itself as such. Much of the work emerges at the brink of this threshold of intrinsic sedimentation, where harm lingers; the harm is itself delayed, still, and elusive.

*April 21st was my first day in Tbilisi. When I first walked into this semi-abandoned space, a surge of excitement took hold of me. The traces of time were manifesting in the space with a natural, unhurried grace. As I explored further, I came across a block of discarded glass wool—a common construction insulation material—lying in a small room. In the center of this cubic mass was a deep indentation, clearly a bed formed by an animal that had curled up there for a long time to rest. In that instant, a visceral, physiological discomfort stung me: Sleeping on that must have been so painful…*

Nothing seems to begin, yet something persists. In this field of what remains invisible and within reach, the sculpture takes the form of a diaphragm. Rarely seen but always at work, it holds the space where breath and pressure converge. It regulates the passage of air between

the inside and the outside; breathing dwells in continuous motion, there is no room for rest. With each breath, pressure blends into flow, and blood is drawn back to the heart.

The body proceeds through these rhythms even when the conditions encircling it are precarious. Not everything that seeps into it finds a resolution, nor does it withdraw. The

body adjusts; it persists through. Within this ceaseless flow, dull ache hangs in the air.

* Words from Ruofan Chen.

We are conditioned to react to sudden, spectacular disasters. But the erosion of modern industrial life operates on a chronic timeline. Industrial residues and heavy metals quietly "settle" into our bodies and soil over decades. The most brutal part of this slow harm is that by the time it becomes visible, it is already irreversible.

We usually just think of it as the muscle that helps us breathe, but it’s really the central engine for the entire body. It works behind the scenes to pump blood back to the heart, drives our lymphatic fluids, and acts as a pressure regulator for vital organs like the liver, lungs, and kidneys.

But imagine what happens when this crucial muscle is slowly eroded and loses its strength. In my sculpture, it takes on a heavy, stone-like texture and structure. It becomes stiff, and even the slightest movement or expansion becomes incredibly difficult.