A Temporary Garden is a work that emerges from repetition and return. I work with leftover materials, archival images, and fragments of earlier work, not to preserve something, but to see what happens when nothing disappears definitively.

Images circulate, change, and return, like plants in a garden that grow, die off, and come back again (or not). The starting point for A Temporary Garden lies in the garden of my old rental house. When I moved in, the garden was bare, and I knew I would be living there only temporarily. Still, I began gardening. The soil was difficult, damp, polluted, full of remnants from previous residents. Only after years did plants begin to grow. It became a small space where care, repetition, and loss came together. When I left, I had to leave the garden behind. A garden only exists through the time you invest in it. I am trying to learn that perhaps it is not so bad when things decay. Maybe decay is not an end, but a necessary phase within a cycle.

In parallel, I write texts, as a thought experiment, about the end of the world. Instead of pushing these thoughts away, I try to allow them in: the climate, the failure of systems, the loss of certainties. These texts do not appear unambiguously in the work, but are concealed, fragmented, and layered again.

The work constantly moves between paper and digital, between image and text, between making and dismantling. What becomes visible is always provisional. What disappears remains present as a possibility.