Seashells are said to carry the sound of the ocean in them. Much alike them, we carry the landscapes we grew up in. We meet again in them the imaginary hopes and the unrealised lives of our childhood. Wherever we go, we take the hills and the seashores with us, the ridges and the breeze that wafts around them. Despite disruptions and incompatibilities, we manage somehow to accommodate this inner landscape to the ones around us. Holding firmly onto them, only we are aware of the hidden self that they preserve, and of the potential that they offer of a renegotiation of it.
Sculpture, metallic strips