when you
                                      hold me
































2024, Laser print on 117 pieces of tissue paper,  Dimensions Variable







A gesture of love amidst quiet fear, when you hold me celebrates and grieves the intricacies of the artist’s parents' aging skin. As close-up, fragmented images of her parents’ skin cling onto thin sheets of tissue paper, the artist negotiates with both visible and tactile traces of age, of decay, and of the passage of time. A quilt-like assemblage suspended in space, when you hold me meditates between states: it is textured but smooth, fragile yet weighted, degenerating yet ever so alive, comforting yet disconcerting.

As when you hold me hums softly in a dimlit room, the artist invites you to trace this field of skin, to wrap yourself in its folds, creases, nooks and crannies, and to be enveloped in threads of emotions pressed into wisps of tissue---out of gratitude and love for her parents, in all its complexities.




































The work positions itself within a dialogue between disciplines—photography and spatial installation—yet resists settling fully into either. Instead, it dwells in their intersection to accentuate the materiality of the image itself. This convergence urged a search for points of synchrony: where image finds resonance with surface, and surface with space and display. But more intimately, it became a way of holding—of staying with—the slow, quiet shifts the artist observed on my parents’ skin. In tracing their pores, their creases, their changing textures, she was not only capturing time’s movement, but attempting to pause within it. The work is an act of refusal: to let them slip into finality. Instead, it suspends them in the in-between, where love lives in tension with fear, and presence continues to unfold.