Rolls of rice paper hang from ceiling to floor, filling the room. Each sheet has been cut, taped closed and hand stitched, an act of harm followed by an act of healing, repeated across every surface. The rice paper is delicate, fragile and semitransparent, like skin. Each piece is individual. None of them looks the same.

Visitors walk through and between the rolls, close enough to see the scars, close enough to touch them.  A video is projected onto the hanging paper, a close up of hands stitching, intimate and meditative. The face is absent. The absence is deliberate. The viewer can place themselves there.