( máy may )

In the quiet of June, I asked my aunt if I could keep her very first sewing machine. She hadn’t been sewing for some time, her health no longer allowing it, but that machine held so much of her, and so much of my childhood. She gave it to me gently. I placed it in my studio, not just as decor, but as memory. This painting began there. I returned to those early sounds, and let the past draw itself.

( my aunt's sewing machine )

Beneath the sewing machine, I once saw flowers bloom.

Not real ones - just in the bright, quiet world of my childhood, everything felt like it could.
I didn’t know it was art. I had no words for the feeling, only memories of sitting silently beside my aunt, playing with scraps, lost in imagination.

This piece isn’t just about remembering. It’s a silent thank you.
For my aunt. For my childhood.
For the imagined flowers that once bloomed beneath the sewing machine.

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