My fig is her shallot
41 × 41 cm
“Different hands, different tables — the same quiet labour, pressed into something that holds.”
A fig and a shallot, set side by side as equals. One peeled for a family dinner, one grown for market; each carries the same repetitive, unglamorous work of hands. In relief, that labour is not described but deposited — layer over layer — until the everyday object gains the weight of something kept.
What is normally used up and forgotten is held still instead, dense and permanent. Ordinary work, made to last as long as stone.
