What has been worn, stretched, and shaped by the body does not disappear, it lingers.

In Soft Bodies, discarded denim is given volume again. Not as clothing but as presence. The filled forms hold onto something of their past life: a softness that resists collapse, a quiet tension between yielding and holding. They seem to remember the body without depicting it.

These works are not about transformation as replacement, but as continuation. What was once functional becomes something slower, more introspective.The material gathers itself, thickens, and settles into new forms where absence is not emptiness, but a different kind of weight.