The last drawer on the left

Supposedly about home, and yet time is everywhere. Supposedly about things that hold memory, and yet about people who are no longer there. Aside from a few distinct sculptures - everything here is subtle, faded, as if it might disappear any moment. And it does. The further we go, the less we see. And yet the longer we look, the more is revealed - not details, but effort. Painstaking effort. What the artist calls home, memory, nostalgia - is oppressively material here. Like an object repaired to the limits of its endurance. Remembering is not a gesture or an accident. It’s a labor. Even if memory is selfless, without care a part of it can easily be overwritten - by other things, other people, another home.