Oblivion

Immigration carries a weight that is both visible and invisible, a weight that reshapes the body, mind, and sense of home. Oblivion embodies this burden: a form straining forward, lips turned outward in a gesture of sweetness, civility, and adaptation, while a heavy chain pulls it relentlessly in another direction.

The tension between the smooth, sensuous curves of the clay and the cold, industrial bite of the metal speaks to the duality of the migrant experience: the desire to belong, to present oneself as gracious and open, and the simultaneous reality of being dragged through displacement, bureaucracy, and cultural dissonance.

The hook is not just a tool of force; it is an anchor to elsewhere, a reminder that stability is provisional. The chain’s tautness reflects the constant negotiation between self and surroundings, between holding on and letting go.

In Oblivion, the body is caught mid-contortion, both resisting and yielding. It speaks to the disquieting truth of migration, that to survive, one must often perform acceptance while privately carrying the weight of loss, longing, and uprootedness.

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