No Flesh Will Disclose Our Eyelid.

This work explores the paradox of change within stillness, the meeting of opposing forces, the sense of becoming held inside a fixed form. It unfolds in a threshold space where dream and shape merge, where presence is both spread and concentrated. Here, opposites do not cancel each other but coexist: stasis that pulses with silent motion, duality that blurs into unity.

At its core are two figures, suspended in an endless dreamlike loop, neither fully awake nor fully at rest. They mirror and oppose one another, joined into a single body yet holding subtle tension. Their limbs are intertwined, their boundaries unclear, as if sculpted from the same primordial clay but infused with opposing essences. Though they remain still, their form shifts faintly, like liquid held in pause, always on the edge of movement. The rhythm fluctuates, moving from calm to restless, as if their essence transforms in response to the pulse.

Their eyes are closed by the weight of time, not as blindness, but as a release of perception. They breathe, not through lungs, but through the soil, through the sap that courses in silence beneath bark and bone. This breath is rhythmic and tidal, felt only as a trace of motion beneath the skin.

From their fused body, a tree emerges, not planted, but born. It grows through and beyond them, not as an act of creation but as an extension of their being. Its roots reach into hidden layers of memory, feeding on forgotten dreams.

Suspended between becoming and being, they exist somewhere in-between, where time loops and identity remains unfixed. This work reflects on the tension between movement and rest, offering not a conclusion but a ritual, quiet cycle of form, breath, and silence.