Balancing play and planning, my work continues an active exploration of lost intimacy with the everyday. I not only investigate, but aim to capture and preserve my everyday minutia. In “SKIN,” my body intimately peels dried glue from the concrete floor, recognizing the overlooked cracks, spills, and stains that become imprinted. The act of removal becomes a ritual of rebirth—stripping marks from a lineage of makers while adding to it.

I become submerged; encased, between feeling trapped and feeling protected—between two floors; the cold concrete below, and its ghost above. My body is a shell, a shield, and yet it simultaneously craves to be shielded. The “SKIN” layer of floor created by the glue is worn as a new wall: not quite womb-like in its membranous protection and comfort, but still translucent enough to be seen by the outside’s eye. Preserving mundane marks from this architecture’s skin, I question what traces my own body leaves behind. Feeling at once both trapped and protected, this process reflects anxieties about my environmental impact.