I feel like I have been losing my tangible history. Physical things were lost, as we moved home eight times in the past twenty-three years. We moved following my artist father’s whims as he loved going from one place to another. With each move, the things that needed to be transported were meticulously wrapped in big bed sheets, and sometimes

even my mother’s shawl. Hence, I have started wrapping things with other things. Through my practice, I am trying to explore my relationship to lost spaces, and perhaps, also something that is inextricably connected with what home means to me: the relationship between home, my father and I.

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The process of moving is laborious, as is my practice. Sometimes, I wrap objects to evoke a dialogue with my memory just to relive the past. Sometimes, it is to explore relationships with my body in relation to spatial changes; longing for spaces that don’t exist. At other times, it could be just to relive the act of wrapping and unwrapping, all over again. The next time will be better is the culmination of finding and combining objects that are intentional, quiet and connected to the overarching idea of movement and loss. It is a process to examine the liminality felt between each move. The blueprints which are an integral part of this work are archives from my father and consist of some of his

drawings, redrawn(by me) on the bed sheet. The bedsheet is stretched on a wooden frame which is the width and height of my body and that is what holds everything all together; like the way the bedsheets then, held all mybelongings.