Genesis

Description

I call this piece “Genesis” — because for me, it is not an object but a moment. A moment in which form has not yet decided what it will become.

Before me stood an olive root that had lived several centuries in the earth before it came into my hands. I invented nothing anew — I merely freed what already existed within this mass, accumulated by time. Every curve, every hollow, every break is not my gesture, but the tree’s memory of its own chaotic, unrepeatable growth.

I look at this thing and see something different each time. Sometimes something resembling a nervous system, a branching network of impulses. Sometimes a creature curled at the moment of waking. Sometimes simply pure emptiness, framed by matter — breath turned solid. I deliberately do not fix a single meaning to the form: let each person who stands before it find their own image — one that lives in their own mind, not in mine.

I made the metal supports almost invisible — thin enough that the heavy, dense mass of the root seems to have broken free from the pedestal and from gravity itself. I wanted it to hang suspended in the air — like a knot of energy that had, for a moment, taken on form.

For me, “Genesis” is not a story of the world’s origin. It is, rather, the very thought of a beginning, caught a second before it managed to become something definite.

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