Memory here is not something preserved or fixed. It is alive, shifting with time. It is not a return to what once was, but a rewriting shaped by the present. Every act of remembering is another act of creation.
The bodies in the paintings appear and fade, sometimes defined and sometimes dissolving, as if formed from memory itself. They do not move toward completion or disappearance, but exist in a suspended state where the image knots and unknots in the same moment — the way memory returns familiar yet strangely altered.
In this presence, the tiger emerges as a quiet force. Not a symbol or decoration, but a being that understands solitude without withdrawal — a capacity to remain with what cannot be shared. It resembles the raw core of memory within us: steady, unseen, yet shaping everything from within.
The works move between closeness and distance, between revealing and hiding. Each piece holds the trace of something that passed through time and returned in a new form. The exhibition does not search for truth, but for what remains after truth has moved on.
Within