A project reflecting on memory and the silence that followed April 26, 1986. It is a visual narrative of fractured time and the cost of human error, told through three interconnected parts.
The centerpiece is a wall-mounted “carpet” stripped of ornaments, where artifacts of the past — a child’s dress, a jump rope, a spoon, old photographs — emerge from beneath a layer of earth. Wheat roots have intertwined with these objects forever, as if nature is attempting to heal its own wounds, leaving behind only dust and absence instead of vibrant colors.
The second part features children’s dresses from that era. Once filled with the warmth of life, they are now overgrown with roots that hold them as silent witnesses to a rushed evacuation. These are traces of fates: dresses without children and homes without voices, where nature reclaims what humanity left behind.
The final element is a canvas grown from wheat roots. The land that was meant to nourish and sustain life began to preserve silence and void after the catastrophe. Here, the roots serve as a medium of memory, bringing to the surface what remains buried underground — a reminder that the consequences of tragedy endure far longer than headlines or calendar dates.
Year 2020
Techniques: author’s technique: Rhizome rootwork
Materials: roots, ground dirt, paper, textile
