Life, in its essence, is perpetually incomplete, always unfolding in ways we can never fully grasp. Art, too, to me mirror this sense of open-endedness, yet the creative process is often bound by conventions and structures that prescribe how it ought to look, feel, and even resonate. In our constant drive to fill gaps and find missing elements in both life and art, we risk losing sight of what is right before us—the textures and fragments that are already rich with meaning.
For me, this realization brings a certain acceptance of unresolved symbols, fragmented memories, and personal reflections. They exist almost as a government devoid of direction, a story interrupted mid-sentence, or a yearning for closure that may never come. In this space, I embrace the beauty of the unfinished, such as in a poignant piece of family history—a video taken by my mother in 1998, capturing a fleeting moment where I, only a year old, am held by our helper, Soma. The recording is incomplete, moments missing from the sequence, yet it is within these absences that I find a kind of solace. This fragmented video speaks to the beauty of imperfection and loss, reminding me that while we often chase after what seems absent, the real depth lies in appreciating what is already present.
In many ways, this piece illustrates how our search for what’s missing blinds us to the delicate, fleeting beauty of what exists now, in its raw, unaltered form. We become so focused on what isn’t there that we overlook the intimate moments and details—the ones that hold the true essence of life’s narrative, unfinished as it may be
Stills from “Missing Film, Missing Memory”
Life, in its essence, is perpetually incomplete, always unfolding in ways we can never fully grasp. Art, too, to me mirror this sense of open-endedness, yet the creative process is often bound by conventions and structures that prescribe how it ought to look, feel, and even resonate. In our constant drive to fill gaps and find missing elements in both life and art, we risk losing sight of what is right before us—the textures and fragments that are already rich with meaning.
For me, this realization brings a certain acceptance of unresolved symbols, fragmented memories, and personal reflections. They exist almost as a government devoid of direction, a story interrupted mid-sentence, or a yearning for closure that may never come. In this space, I embrace the beauty of the unfinished, such as in a poignant piece of family history—a video taken by my mother in 1998, capturing a fleeting moment where I, only a year old, am held by our helper, Soma. The recording is incomplete, moments missing from the sequence, yet it is within these absences that I find a kind of solace. This fragmented video speaks to the beauty of imperfection and loss, reminding me that while we often chase after what seems absent, the real depth lies in appreciating what is already present.
In many ways, this piece illustrates how our search for what’s missing blinds us to the delicate, fleeting beauty of what exists now, in its raw, unaltered form. We become so focused on what isn’t there that we overlook the intimate moments and details—the ones that hold the true essence of life’s narrative, unfinished as it may be
Stills from “Missing Film, Missing Memory”