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Image 1 of 1
Colored pencil and alcohol ink on paper
45 x 64 cm
2026
There is a particular heaviness in inhabiting a space that never feels final, the narrowness of a life kept on standby. Every move is a reminder of the envy I carry, a sharp resentment for those who know where their lives will end. While others build futures in a single place, I am perpetually folding my life into cardboard. In this room, I am anchored only by the thread and needle of the Thobe I wear. My heritage is the only thing I cannot pack away, yet it feels heavy against the fragile reality of these boxes. There is a quiet irony in using such a slow medium and a repetitive process to capture a transient state. Each layer of colored pencil feels like a brick being laid and an attempt to build a foundation where none exists.
Colored pencil and alcohol ink on paper
45 x 64 cm
2026
There is a particular heaviness in inhabiting a space that never feels final, the narrowness of a life kept on standby. Every move is a reminder of the envy I carry, a sharp resentment for those who know where their lives will end. While others build futures in a single place, I am perpetually folding my life into cardboard. In this room, I am anchored only by the thread and needle of the Thobe I wear. My heritage is the only thing I cannot pack away, yet it feels heavy against the fragile reality of these boxes. There is a quiet irony in using such a slow medium and a repetitive process to capture a transient state. Each layer of colored pencil feels like a brick being laid and an attempt to build a foundation where none exists.