Sweet Nothings

This project, Sweet Nothings, explores how narrative can take on a physical presence –  something that can not only be read, but held and felt. This work engages themes of identity, intimacy, vulnerability and the desire for connection; drawing from personal experiences I had meeting and dating men online and in person. It critically reflects on screen fatigue as everyday life becomes increasingly attention-driven and streams of content become limitless, like a 24-hour buffet. Digital platforms, shaped by algorithms and performative selfhood, can encourage detachment, where endless scrolling replaces human touch, and emojis stand in for emotions.

The work is hand woven and embroidered: a quiet, contemplative, and meditative practice that creates space for slowness, where time is momentarily suspended. Through softness, repetition, and care, I attempt to reclaim the emotional labour often minimized in online exchanges; transforming ephemeral conversations into tactile and lasting forms. Touch becomes a way to speak to my fear of intimacy while exploring questions such as: can the screen mediate our interactions in ways that foster meaningful connections? What do we lose or gain through virtual communication?

Nostalgia is (not) Productive

Artist Louise Bourgeois once said, “You have to differentiate between memories. Are you going to them or are they coming to you? Nostalgia is not productive.”¹ I read this on a plane on my way to visit a friend in London, and it has stayed with me ever since.

This project, Nostalgia is (not) Productive, explores grief and loss through text and textiles. Drawing on Pauline Boss’s theory of Ambiguous Loss, I consider what it means to grieve someone who is still living. The work asks whether nostalgia functions as a coping mechanism for grief or if it merely re-inscribes trauma through cycles of rumination.

Through time-intensive processes such as stitching and weaving, I create a contemplative space for reflection and mourning. Words are embroidered onto pillowcases, bedsheets, and curtains—intimate, everyday objects that hold the body and, by extension, the residue of memory. These inscribed surfaces become records of inner dialogue, gestures of mourning that seek meaning in repetition and repair. I aim to hold tension between presence and absence, comfort and discomfort, remembering and letting go.

¹ Kuster, Ulf. Louise Bourgeois. Hatje Cantz Publishers, 2012, p. 43.