In the winter of 2022, I was sunken into a huge sense of loss and guilt that was too desperate to turn and face.  All the water pipes burst in a vacuum house that I call home. I couldn’t go near it until 3 months later:  the furniture and walls governing my childhood memories were completely ruined.  The pain felt like I was forced to chop off a part of my body.  It paralyzed and traumatized me until two years ago. 

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Through exploring the vacant lands, abandoned construction sites, and “ghost houses”, this ongoing documentation fantasizes about the dramatic events and creates novel characters in these settings. I felt a strong impulse to restore. Our memories are not precise replicas of the past but are distorted by emotions, biases, and the passage of time. Details shift, facts blur, but the feelings persist. Our memories are scattered yet linger, awaiting activation but resistant to be repaired.