Through the other side of the wall, I transferred water mixed with a fluorescent leak detector—a substance typically used in plumbing to find leaks. Here, I create the leak myself, rendering the material’s purpose useless. The liquid slowly seeps into felt stitched to the drywall, staining it as it drips down. The gesture loops back on itself: the leak detector fails, and so does the attempt to patch it.

I began this piece by drilling holes into a concrete floor using a heavy-duty hammer drill. During the exhibition, visitors were invited to roll small pearls into the holes, softening the act, turning labor into play, and force into care.

This kind of wormhole diagram is often used in physics to describe complex ideas of time travel and space warping. Here, it’s made from very simple materials though: sticks I found with my kids, silicon tubes, hot glue, and studio leftovers. I was thinking about the gap between the vast and the intimate, the cosmic and the domestic. 

When I moved into this studio, the floor was covered in paint marks left behind by the previous tenant, an abstract painter. As a sculptor, I needed a clean, neutral workspace, but also didn’t want to erase the history embedded in the floor. So I painted the entire floor gray but left a single square of the original surface untouched near the entrance. The preserved patch holds the residue of another artist’s labor, a tribute to their work, a meeting point between two practices that never really overlapped.

Matches are objects made to disappear in seconds, but in this oversized hand-built ceramic they become permanent—frozen remnants of potential energy, left behind for whoever might dig them up someday.

Matches are objects made to disappear in seconds, but in this oversized hand-built ceramic they become permanent—frozen remnants of potential energy, left behind for whoever might dig them up someday.

This kind of wormhole diagram is often used in physics to describe complex ideas of time travel and space warping. Here, it’s made from very simple materials though: sticks I found with my kids, silicon tubes, hot glue, and studio leftovers. I was thinking about the gap between the vast and the intimate, the cosmic and the domestic. 

One night I dreamt about an old friend from college. In the dream, he had an exhibition with a huge sphere taped to the wall, and I felt envious, drawn to its form, materiality, and scale, wishing it were mine. When I woke up, I decided to make it. Working on it made me think about the subconscious and why certain feelings are conditioned to remain hidden.

Coffee is transported from on side of the wall to the other, creating a slow and steady constant drip.

Photo by Kimin Kim

I first made this piece while eight months pregnant, drilling and stitching into the wall, climbing a tall ladder. It was initially installed next to the building’s mechanical room, which emitted a constant, monotonous hum that seemed to match my own pregnant body and its quiet efforts.