good (honey, milk) night
whispered your kiss its three hands
overlapped
tick - tock
the silence
and
a dream
sweet as the residue .
Named after a poem I wrote, good (honey, milk) night is a site-specific installation retracing the contours of my sense of security in the midst of the pandemic. My father used to make me a cup of milk steaming with a tab of honey every night when I was a kid, and the residue at the bottom of my cup becomes reassuring imagery. Grasping the warmth of the past routine when I flew back home amid a chaotic time, the memory of the honey scent folds in time with my habitual sleeping position: I always tuck my stuffed toy under my neck. The enclosed space formed by the position of my head, my neck, and my right arm resting around the soft toy carries on the private experience of comfort.
For the first time in ten years, I revisited the park I spent most of my childhood in with the hope to relocate the site of my sense of belonging and happiness. I walked side by side with my father to the children's playground in the park and was confronted by a flat and empty ground: the complete playground was torn down. Raveling out my sentiments of the unstable memory, I cast the shape of my sense of security and comfort in wax. I brought the indistinct, semi-transparent object to the playground, and placed it on top of my old, kid’s size pillow that was no longer in use. Leaning forward, the sweet scent of the beeswax escapes the shimmering translucence of the industrial wax and enters the nose. There used to be a wooden rocking horse.