Still life is never still. Objects carry the weight of time, of presence, of absence.

Silent witnesses to history, objects of admiration. I gather them—not just things, but fragments of memory, echoes of touch. I shift them, strip them of their function, listen to their quiet stories. A cup is no longer a cup. A thread unspools into something unnamed. In their silence, I find voices. To pause, to notice—to feel the weight. That is what I seek. I compose, I unmake, I begin again. Each arrangement is a question, a reflection, a self-portrait in disguise. Still life is never still. It moves with us, through us. And in its quiet presence, we might just hear ourselves.