Husks of Magnolia Buds

In early spring, magnolia buds swell, protected by fragile, hair-covered husks. Fallen to the ground, these seemingly lifeless husks still host invisible life, hinting at persistence within what appears dead.

I collect these husks and transform them into small bird-shaped forms, tracing back to a memory from when I was fourteen: discovering a tiny, featherless bird pressed against the cement outside my apartment. The encounter, with life, death, and the threshold between them, remains vivid, shaping my practice.

Through these works, memory, survival, and the quiet persistence of life are carried forward, inviting a reflection on the delicate connections between humans, nature, and time.