Crying Object

Sometimes I feel the emotions of things.

Those objects do not speak to humans, but their presence gives me a certain feeling. The invisible story of how things are used and discarded in human society can be understood just by being near them. Every time I pass the pottery tomb, where abandoned pottery is buried, I can sense the emotions of the broken pottery. Perhaps, it’s because I can identify with them at some point. They don’t cry out loud. They just remain there silently and are buried with time. To me, the act of crying is not necessarily the fact that water comes out of the body and the body trembles. Every day, just existing, endures the weight of life and embraces all kinds of emotions. The pottery, formed from clay and eventually discarded after it has run out of life, returns to clay again and repeats itself infinitely. In the same time as eternity, I silently look at the clay lumps, crying, and the vessels that are losing their original shape.

I used the broken bowls to serve food and give them a new purpose, hoping to breathe new life into them for a while. These are also human-oriented emotions and actions, but through this, I try to project and heal myself by connecting to those objects, even a little bit.

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