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Family Tree
Installation.
Cactus plant, Soil, Cassette tapes.
2025
A cactus plant with names poked in it stood in the corner of our ancestral house. The plant has disappeared over the years, and the house is no longer inhabited from cruel partition. The work is a possible settlement of memories from my childhood, memories associated with the house, the people, and the days that are now only remembered through glimmers found on old tapes, often left stuck on a tree branch or dried sticks.
The installation made as part of the show titled βThe Strangers We Knowβ curated by
@neighbourhq speaks about the emotional distance that can exist within closeness, and the subtle roles we grow into and out of. The works lingers on kinship in its more uncertain forms, when ties feel fragile, dissonant or unresolved. It calls us to reflect on familial relationships through a process of repair and self-reclamation. These works act as gentle interruptions to inherited narratives, attending to gestures, impressions and silences. What emerges is a fragmented map, a slow reconstruction where family is no longer seen as fixed, but as something fluid, chosen and continually unfolding. (Excerpt from the show text).
The cactus plant, like a family tree, is something I often glance at randomly, as if expecting to find something someone has written on its branches.
π΅
