Tabula Rasa (2015)
interactive installation,
collection of 626 dried autumn leaves, found object
Viewers are invited to walk around the installation room and step onto the autumn leaves
collection of 626 dried autumn leaves, found object
Viewers are invited to walk around the installation room and step onto the autumn leaves
It is difficult to know where to begin,
when we know all that we carry has an invisible weight.
Like fallen leaves drifting to the forest floor.
Some less than whole, some more.
There lies a strange state
a mess in order
a fleeting vision
a passing indisposition
an underlying, ever present abiding under-current of our natural state
where rhythm should be,
but there’s space around an expected beat
we don’t hear.
Slowly but gradually,
it gravitates and consumes you.
We repel against it
in fear and faith
in loss and reluctance
in hope and courage.
We know it isn’t always about the fight,
but for the fear as part of the lesson -
of letting go,
of unguarded honesty
of the inevitable human blunder.
Resulting in a mockery of the disparate space between expectations and reality.
But the little one inside reminds me,
it’s a world outside covered in cobbler crust of brown, sugar and cinnamon.
There’s a hopeful ignorance in
a safe kind of bliss
comfort
and alleviation.
In the strange (wistful) passing of time,
only tiny bits will ever make sense at once.
From withering, we harden by the day.
From falling, we let go of the weight we carry.
We once made a deal with time,
not it’s slipping by too fast –
But we knew there will always be the promise of the next autumn
to make up for the end
And a new beginning.
when we know all that we carry has an invisible weight.
Like fallen leaves drifting to the forest floor.
Some less than whole, some more.
There lies a strange state
a mess in order
a fleeting vision
a passing indisposition
an underlying, ever present abiding under-current of our natural state
where rhythm should be,
but there’s space around an expected beat
we don’t hear.
Slowly but gradually,
it gravitates and consumes you.
We repel against it
in fear and faith
in loss and reluctance
in hope and courage.
We know it isn’t always about the fight,
but for the fear as part of the lesson -
of letting go,
of unguarded honesty
of the inevitable human blunder.
Resulting in a mockery of the disparate space between expectations and reality.
But the little one inside reminds me,
it’s a world outside covered in cobbler crust of brown, sugar and cinnamon.
There’s a hopeful ignorance in
a safe kind of bliss
comfort
and alleviation.
In the strange (wistful) passing of time,
only tiny bits will ever make sense at once.
From withering, we harden by the day.
From falling, we let go of the weight we carry.
We once made a deal with time,
not it’s slipping by too fast –
But we knew there will always be the promise of the next autumn
to make up for the end
And a new beginning.
-
The work consists of an interactive installation, white room filled with 626 dried fallen autumn leaves. The otherwise static, enigmatic leaves on the floor is animated by the visitors, who are invited to walk around the space, to step and play around with the autumn leaves.
With the intent to immerse the viewer into a sense of disorder in order, the calm and static space loses stability and coherence, as the autumn leaves are stepped on and when confronted with a broom and the abject in the centre of the work. Suspended between the urge to sit on a functional chair and the discomfort of knowing the very act would break the hardened dried autumn leaves, the ultimate impotent, dysfunctionality of the work re-enacts the inevitability of facing vulnerability. Yet, the broom, suggestive of the presence of life, invites viewers to find courage and empowering awareness of renewal and peace. Incorporating the elements from the outside space, they muddy the boundary between the art and the world. Centred on contrasting the inter-spatial relationship between the inside and outside, the confined space with the finite number of leaves creates an illusion of despair while the trees outside reminds viewers of hope with the infinitude of time and changing seasons. The laborious process of collecting fallen leaves also courts the tension between letting go and attachment to the impermanence. The work, as a result, is stranded in between a state of completion and continuation, exploring letting go as a ceaseless work in progress.
