( 1 x 1 = 1)

2024

120 x 110 x 60 cm; 47 x 43 x 24 in.

shadow, wood, metal, plaster, concrete, resin, clay, hair, charcoal

Last year, I wrote: “…like a kind of mourning, and for the rest of my life, I will silently recite—1x1=1, 1x2=2, 1x3=3—as if concealing the truth, turning it into my mantra.”

Seven years ago, when I first arrived in America, I was too busy indulging in self-pity to grasp the taste of sorrow. But I was a decent little girl, and so, one day, in a math class where I sighed over the simplicity of American high school math class, I invented a brilliant, genius method to distract myself and halt the torrent of tears: reciting the multiplication table.

Last year, I wrote: “A sliver of sky tinged with red, blocks of ice, stones, and human-flesh sandwiches. Hunched over, we carried an entire ice cave on our backs, water trickling between our brows, with nothing beneath our eyes but wandering steps. Here, time no longer matters;” even if this moment collapses into ruin, that would be eternity.

The little girl always has a knack for turning things into comedy, with a touch of genius wit. Lots of wounded shadows, 1x1=1.  (sigh). Fireworks dimming, souls fading.

The shadows on the ground are charcoal drawings.

Also, I traced lots of shadows in the gallery space as an intervention.

Pompeii the space.