If He Were Alive — Who Would I Be|

There is a silence — frozen — when someone speaks your pain. There is a silence of defiance gripping sorrow, refusing to part. A silence of no answer when there are no tears left.

At night, I dreamed — I dreamed I was writing a speech. I woke up. Words were gone.

The feeling, the feeling was there.

It was fear. Fear of feeling.

I touch — I choose — I hold — I fold — I press.

The fear.
The fear.
It is gone.

If He Were Alive — Who Would I Be is rooted in loss and the long process of living with absence.

The works treat form as a lived process rather than a fixed image. Building forms from what remains of an absent father, a family, and a history — fragments that are folded, measured, adjusted, replaced, and chosen — forms to be lived with.

I fold birds again and again. Through repetition, the gesture becomes insistence. The folded bird carries within it both movement and suspension — flight held still.

These recurring forms act as a bridge between time and space, between what remains and what continues. They move between stillness and transformation, gathering into objects that re-enter life: a structure, a presence in space.

What begins as external structure gradually shifts inward. Identity is forged through repeated testing, changing, and refolding — until it becomes internal architecture.

The series approaches grief not as an external weight to carry, but as material that can be worked through until it transforms — allowing what cannot be restored to be held.
I dreamed I was writing a speech.

In the space, the captions become voice. In pulses.

Alternating between images, letting sound bring the sensation of breath. Breaks.

Becoming through form is how the question can be carried:
If He Were Alive — Who Would I Be.