Sand Rubbed on Drawing Paper
It’s hard to image the life of those who grow up with siblings when you are the only child of your parents’.
Though I am my parents’ only child, I was not the first fetus they ever had. In 1993, my mother was pregnant (presumably, it is a girl. At least, my mother likes to think that way). After two months pregnancy, she had a fire accident, which left a large scar on her left arm for life. She had to use a large amount of anti-biotic to prevent infection at the time. And the doctor said he could not guarantee that medicines would not affect the fetal development. My parents decided to get abortion because they did not want their child lives dysfunctionally for rest of her life. I was born on April 27th, 1994. If my parents decided to keep her, I would not exist. Her accidental death is my incidental life.
I install three 6 ft. by 6ft. papers in a corner: one paper is installed on the floor and two others are installed on two sides walls. It creates an anthropomorphic cubic space, a perfect human being. 6 ft. above is me and 6 ft. under is her. It embraces the viewer like a mother’s uterus—a feeling of being inside. The paper represents wood, a source of fire. My mother’s accident was caused by fire. The sand has connection to a fire bucket, which can put out fire. n this piece, I rub sand on a paper as if I apply medicine on a wound. The process is a physical treatment as well as a mental healing.
Every life begins like a blank paper. One tries to leave his or her trace on this specific time and space. Sand is a symbol of time: we can leave mark on sand but we cannot preserve the mark. It is like the cycle of life, elders give up space for youngsters. This sand I gathered from my dorm courtyard represents my current life. If I didn’t existing, would she go through the same path as I am?