A textile-led giving project shaped by affection, care, and everyday kinship with animals. The towels pair iconic artists and designers with individual dogs, extending a quiet message of love, understanding, and protection—made tangible through selection, matching, and gifting.

A series of textile and image-based studies that dwell on repetition, release, and the feeling of loosening a held pattern. The work approaches the body through small marks and accumulations—where “freeing” becomes a quiet, process-led gesture.

変态 (biàn tài) translates as a “change in attitude.” Beginning with a small gesture—removing a square from a sheer white garment—the work tracks how form, intimacy, and perception shift, and how an object can become charged through context and desire.

A brief encounter becomes a lesson in care, warning, and intimacy. In a Rochor neighbourhood store, a grandmother holds the artist close, questions what she is wearing, and offers an abrupt injunction — an exchange that lingers as embodied memory and relational instruction.

A street-level interaction that turns the everyday into a performative score. With humour and tenderness, the work gathers the phrasing and presence of a stranger—“we really need to use your shoulder” — as a small portrait of proximity and public negotiation.

A work anchored in return and departure — how weather, sound, and sensation can summon a past body-state. “When that wind blows,” memory arrives not as narration but as a physical pull back into the moment of leaving.

Textiles become carriers of domestic history. Curtain, tablecloth, sarong, hammock — objects that accompanied a grandmother’s everyday life and mahjong sessions — are held here as a soft archive of family time, place, and shared rhythms.

A remembered moment from 1992: collapsing at an HDB lift landing, and being held by my grandmother as she cried. This work returns to that sensation — how touch can contain fear, relief, and love — while marking the distance between then and now.

A quiet walk where holding hands feels risky, so the body invents other ways of contact — an arm, a sleeve, a shared silence. The work traces tenderness under constraint, and what remains when closeness must be coded.

A family chronicle told through departures and small inheritances—money for a doctor, learning to cook together, the first time hands are held and recorded. Moving across decades, the work treats memory as living correspondence: “tomorrow, I write you a letter.”

The work gestures toward lineage, repetition, and what it means to pass on words, practice, and belief — beyond the self, beyond authorship.