This project grew out of warm childhood memories—those losses that live within us in scents, light, and silence. Grandmother’s room, her warmth, and care.
I tried to recapture that feeling—and I invite you to immerse yourselves in it with me.
Imagine this: as a child, you visit your grandmother’s house. You push the door open—and you are enveloped by a warm, slightly stale air that smells of old varnish, dust, lemon tea, and pie from the kitchen. Sunlight streams through the lace curtains and sheer drapes, flooding the room. Along the wall sits a lacquered cabinet, its glass displaying crystal that is never used.A knitted blanket is draped over the velvet sofa; on the coffee table sits a half-finished cup of tea and a remote control encased in plastic. You lie down on the burgundy rug and trace invisible lines into the pile with your finger.
