Untitled (2021/2026)

Materials: Frozen water

I made this work a few years ago, thinking about the fragility of life. At the time, it felt like an abstract idea. Something observed rather than lived.

My foot held in ice. Solid, present, almost permanent. And yet already disappearing. The slow surrender to warmth, to time, to the inevitable.

I revisited it today and it feels entirely different.

Now I understand it in a way I didn’t before. Grief has a way of sharpening things. It brings you closer to what is fleeting, what cannot be held onto, no matter how tightly you try.

The foot feels like a trace. A presence that was here, now dissolving. Still visible, still recognisable, but slipping away. The water gathers quietly around it, marking time in real form.

Since losing Dad, I find myself sitting with that tension. Holding and losing at the same time. How something can still feel so present, yet be gone. How memory lingers, even as the physical world continues..

This work feels less like an object now and more like a moment. One that can’t be stopped. One that asks you to stand still and witness it.

There is something gentle in that too. Not just loss, but transformation. Not just an ending, but a new form.

Maybe that’s what I was trying to say all along, before I had the words for it, or the experience of it.