I Often Wish to Exi(s)t is not a question.
It is a break.
It is a break.
Nine faces look back at you.
Still.
Caught at the edge of something that cannot be heard.
Still.
Caught at the edge of something that cannot be heard.
A rubber arm swings.
Again.
And again.
Again.
And again.
There is no blood.
No visible mark.
Only repetition.
No visible mark.
Only repetition.
The face does not resist.
It learns when to brace.
When to accept.
It learns when to brace.
When to accept.
This work is about growing up through interruption.
About learning to absorb impact without showing it.
About youth reshaped by forces that never announce themselves.
About learning to absorb impact without showing it.
About youth reshaped by forces that never announce themselves.
The movement continues.
The sound fills the space.
You stop watching and start remembering.
The sound fills the space.
You stop watching and start remembering.
Not the slap itself,
but what follows it.
The silence.
The adjustment.
The forgetting.
but what follows it.
The silence.
The adjustment.
The forgetting.
This work does not offer release.
It keeps the wound open.
It holds the moment where pain becomes habit
and identity forms around it.
It keeps the wound open.
It holds the moment where pain becomes habit
and identity forms around it.