Beauty in Transience ~

 2024

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Transient Summer ~ Transient Autumn ~ Transient Winter ~ 

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This body of work emerged from intimate, reflective moments in nature—those sudden recognitions of beauty in the fleeting. These “aha” moments have shaped a shift in my practice, from an exploration of identity and its transience to a more focused meditation on the beauty within transience itself.

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My work is grounded in material memory. Since 2014, I’ve been collecting old artefacts—weathered maps, personal ephemera, and objects marked by time. These found materials have long been part of my visual language, even before I fully understood their emotional undercurrent. A professor once remarked that my work touched on themes of loss and impermanence—a reflection I didn’t consciously pursue at the time. But in retrospect, I see how this sensibility has always been present: in the fragility of materials, in my slow, contemplative processes, and in my deep reverence for what once was.

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After moving to a home near a patch of woodland in London, my connection to seasonal cycles deepened. Daily walks over five years made me acutely aware of the natural world’s ever-shifting states—the energy of spring, the fullness of summer, the melancholic beauty of autumn. These experiences sharpened my awareness of the ephemeral and opened a new sensibility in my work.

In Japanese, there is a word for this feeling: Mono no aware (物の哀れ)—an empathy toward things, a sensitivity to impermanence. It captures perfectly the emotional tenor of this series.

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"Only the ephemeral is of lasting value." — Eugène Ionesco

 

The Colour Black

For the first time, I have introduced black as a central material—using hand-dyed black linens and khadi cotton as a ground. This shift was prompted by a thoughtful nudge that led me to consider seeing through darkness.

To me, black is a space of origin and possibility:

• A colour of creation

• A meditative void

• A liminal space between dissolution and becoming

“In the beginning, there was black.” This idea resonates deeply. In these works, I have slow-stitched fleeting moments from nature onto these dark surfaces using threads spun from old maps and memory-laden materials. These gestures are small acts of preservation, of presence.

I think of this process as stitching light into darkness—honouring the beauty of what passes, and holding space for what’s yet to emerge.