Sometimes, I Forget to Breathe is not just a sculpture. It is an endurance device.
A concrete cube, cold and immovable, rests on angled steel legs. The viewer becomes the performer by stepping inside. The weight is not physical but it presses. Breath shortens. The world disappears. There is only you, the silence, and the weight of your own thoughts.
This work is about survival in stillness. It is about what happens when we suppress, when we adapt too much, when we hold our breath to stay acceptable, to stay unseen, to survive abroad. It speaks to the long invisible violence of existing elsewhere. Of holding the scream inside your lungs because no one speaks your language. Of collapsing inward under the slow pressure of being too foreign, too sensitive, too alone.
Like Abramović’s performances, it invites discomfort as a path to truth. The work does not soothe. It confronts. You are asked to feel. To endure. To remember your breath because forgetting it is too easy.
This is not a sculpture.
It is a confession.
It is a body learning how to stay alive.
It is a confession.
It is a body learning how to stay alive.