Porcelain Veins

Broken doll parts lay scattered in the garden soil, their glazed eyes fixed on the sky. Carefully arranging them felt like gathering whispers instead of objects – a reconstruction not of what *was*, but of possible histories. Each selection, each joining of limbs, subtly altered the overall form, revealing how attention itself reshapes reality through inclusion and exclusion. The resulting figures weren’t found things so much as they *became* something new with each handling; weights shifting in the balance of memory and imagination, finally settling into a fragile quietude.