Tired Doll

sometimes the most painful thing is a bare space, an empty room. this place needs some colour, so the Doll learns to carefully fold paper into flowers. making slow, careful creases, the Doll works ceaselessly.

hours, days, months... seasons come and go, flowers bloom and die, the rains and the fires and the floods and the sun all have their time. despite years of work, tending to its paper garden, the Doll keeps folding, a desperate need to curate its surroundings sustaining it through the decades, to fill the space around it with colour, to will life to grow in the cracks of its cold, porcelain skin.

and so it produces art in an endless quest to make a sound louder than its own voice.