Untitled

A vivid memory from the early days of my third year centers around a question my professor posed: "What is your defining trait?" At the time, I struggled to grasp the essence of this inquiry.
After the lecture, the question lingered, gradually unveiling an unsettling truth. I realized that I had been mimicking others, attempting to "borrow" fragments of their personalities and awkwardly weave them into my own. My sense of self began to resemble a puzzle composed of scattered pieces from different people—pieces that never fully aligned. I felt compelled to adopt these traits, as if by doing so, I could carve away parts of my own identity.
In truth, this process produced an effect akin to the rejection seen in cross-species organ transplants, where the system is thrown into disarray. I found myself trapped in a state of confusion and fragmentation, much like the liminal space before sleep, where it is difficult to distinguish between conscious imagination and the free flow of unconscious thought. I could no longer discern which parts of me were authentic and which were the blood-stained fragments I had torn from others.
Now, I no longer resist this process. It cannot be dismissed as purely pathological or mistaken; rather, it is an essential phase in the "breaking and reshaping" of one’s identity. The act of reshaping is no less arduous than the breaking itself; it brings with it the agony of waiting.
When I think about the process of creating this sculpture, I’d describe the feeling it captures as "waiting to find the right puzzle pieces." But when I step away from the act of making, it feels more like "waiting to adjust to the reshaping, so that renewal can take place."