The broken glass and mirror parallel the disassembled state of inner being that one experiences in ending cycles and patterns. A purging of the darkness I witnessed in everyday life filled with humble and routine sacrifice. Oddly enough, I found very small eggs emerging from the red surface of the handmade Nepali paper, just as I finished re-reading Kafka’s Metamorphosis. A synchronistic (and slightly horrifying) reminder of the rebirth that follows soon after destruction occurs.
I felt this phase strongly while traveling through Calcutta and Sikkim, during which time my grandmother also passed away.
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