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Your Good Heart
Knows How To Swim (After Ada Limón) II (2024)
Plywood, ink on acetate sheet and silk
(left) 8’ x 2.5’ x 3.5’, (right) 8’ x 2’ x 3.5’
In 2024, I revisited the series again after uncovering 36 family photographs that were damaged by flood when cleaning out my grandparents’ home. The images didn’t blur as I anticipated, but became a supernova of pigments, lifted and dissolved by water before resettling into fireworks of cool tones. Losing my archive made me interested in how inherent vice and material decay of archives are not just evidence of loss: the photographs can no longer hold individual stories of my past, but they became a collective archive, embedded with the memory of water.
In Your Good Heart Knows How To Swim II, I constructed a room divider in response to the dissolved photos—a gridded memory container, a projection surface, a safe corner I can sit in. I am interested in how things and places remember the past differently from humans.
Additional details of the sculpture: