Since my formal studies are complete, I have noticed how my attention has shifted from explanation to listening. I’m less interested in resolving my work by figuring out how I will share it in a gallery/exhibition/framing, and more concerned with how that process will participate in the work’s breathing. When structure becomes too certain, I fear the work tightens. When it remains provisional, it allows marks, materials, and forms to keep thinking. I want my process to behave like another gesture — responsive, tentative, and alive to what has already taken place.
The important part of this blog is the process of sharing the work, which, up to 30 November 2025, was only to be ‘discovered’ if one walked into that specific area of the social space, called Kringe ini Bos.
I am at this place where I think, this is how my work continues to breathe, and that’s not a metaphor I feel I need to justify. It’s a lived truth in my practice now.
I started sharing images of the installation on 30 November 2025. The first was a video post. I realise that learning comes from doing – I had to jump in and get going. Perhaps I am, in fact, doing something, and in the process, I am learning to discover what I have done. I am asking myself how others will find meaning – does the installation project have meaning? I shared that the forest keeps reminding me that the process is the meaning, and that by being present on regular visits to the site, I am starting to open these ideas. I learnt that my role was to tend to the work – to adjust, observe and learn from the process. Every day I could see new traces left on the different surfaces, and that the work is never fixed in this state – it is working with the breath of the site. It reminds me that nature is alive and that the collaborators in the work are now more unintentional and growing with the flow of things.
Ideas around presence and permanence came with the site. After two weeks, I decided to leave the site unattended while we were on our family holiday. What would happen if I were not there at all?
Returning to the forest became an issue as my father became very ill and was hospitalised, and I was mostly not near the site to visit. My thoughts around the absence were that agency dispersed into wind, the sprinkler water, insects, gravity, and falling pine needles, becoming part of the process or recording their marks.