A sentence spoken easily, almost automatically.
As if loss could be contained within a few words.

​

Some losses arrive at the same time.
Personal and collective.
The loss of love, and the loss of a country shaped by war.

 

This work sits within that rupture,
where these losses intersect and begin to mirror one another,
blurring the line between what is intimate and what is shared.

 

It moves through grief, holding it, inhabiting it, tracing its shifting forms.

 

A figure, my own, wrapped in a white shroud, appears throughout, haunting the images.
Marking Death, of what is already gone.

 

Fragments remain.
Places. Moments. What once felt like home.
Torn, layered, held in tension.
Between what was and what no longer is.

 

And still, all of it is reduced to that one sentence.
Sorry for your loss.