born to be burn

Born to be Burn by Sun Chuchu Grandfather kept piglets, planted Chinese toon trees, and gazed at the clock adorned with bauhinia blossoms tens of thousands of times. Paper consumed by flames turns to ash—seen from afar, lingering traces not yet vanished. To me, paper offerings are a romantic language. I imagine fragments of his life: the objects he used daily, his favorite things, how he lived his years… Transforming these fact-based imaginings into tangible forms, only for them to return to wisps of smoke. I document this seemingly futile process, yet through the act itself, mend fragments of absence and regret.