Clothes become a place of exchange

On closer inspection, the grains and marks on each garment tell me its memory of the environment in which it lived (water, temperature, humidity). The past stays in these fabrics in scent, colour and form, which is secludedly present in reality.

In turn, I also wanted to tell them about my life. I began to cut these clothes, touching them and looking at them closer, feeling the beauty of each trace. The senses led me to a series of memories: "I watched the sunset five times a day", "the sky outside the window was pink", and "the red house at the end of the road".

I don't know if it's a deep memory or the conditioning, but when I look at the cut-out cloth, I always associate it with a house or a space. Yet, this house/space has no door. The next garment I picked up was a skirt that said, "I cannot lose my smile", and then there was some light green (mouldy) in the hemline, like the route I took every day when I wandered around the neighbourhood after my nucleic acid test. It was the happiest time of my day. I couldn't bear to cut it up, so I kept the dress to hang in the exhibition as the start of a story. I wanted to exchange stories at Footscray.