Gaeun Kim

The absence of things shapes things. It took me a while to see and sit with it because I have been so tamed by owning, seeing, hearing, consuming, and desiring so many things without knowing in this capitalist vomit. I feel as though there is something awfully wrong when I notice how superficial and lost I feel in the middle of wedging, rolling, and hand-building with clay slabs. Yet, clay generously responds to the traces of my fingers. I am here, making things without knowing what they will end up becoming. I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that I am an embodiment of myriad processes of things that once existed: the paper planes that I made with my grandpa before he passed away, Maru the dog we lost in Amsa-dong, Korea, shame, attachments, frustrations, longings, wounds, and connections that were once made in the process of breathing. Being, becoming, and making. Being, becoming, and making. At what point are you? What are you left with? The thing, you, and I.
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