As a child, I momentarily set aside my diary of secrets. That day, the most important book from my past was read, and my intimate thoughts were ridiculed. This incident sparked the idea for an installation: a slip into the past—a corner reflecting the site of those events that will help visualize the narrative.
That very diary, which is no longer as easy to open as a composition center.
The television from my childhood, which I tried to paint, but only finished now, serving as a base. Crumpled papers—like something too personal, that you now fear keeping in your own journal.
The composition is interwoven with threads like a story that cannot be touched. The project is not about isolation, but about the right to privacy: the world of children has boundaries that cannot be crossed without permission.
