This work transforms a cotton-linen blouse that my grandmother often wore during her lifetime into porcelain. The garment was deconstructed, cast, and fired at high temperature into an empty shell as thin as a cicada's wing. After sintering, it attains a theoretical permanence, eternal yet fragile. The slightest touch produces new cracks and missing fragments. 

The hardest material carries the softest memory; the thing we most wish to preserve continues to be lost each time it is seen or moved. The viewer's very approach makes them an accomplice in its damage. The work is no longer a static monument but an ongoing ritual of loss, acknowledging that everything will eventually shatter.

這件作品仿製外婆生前常穿的棉麻上衣轉譯為陶瓷。布料被拆解後，再以高溫燒製成薄如蟬翼的空殼。燒結之後，它獲得了理論上的永恆，卻同時變得極度脆弱—輕微撞擊即產生新的裂縫與缺口。 

最堅硬的物質承載了最柔軟的記憶，最想留住的東西卻在每一次被凝視、被移動時繼續失去。觀眾靠近就成為損毀的共犯。作品因此不再是一件靜態的紀念碑，而是一場持續進行的喪失儀式—承認一切終將碎裂。 

Since adopting a cat, real lilies – toxic to felines – vanished from home for their safety. My mother quietly gave up her favourite flower so I could pet my cat freely. This piece holds both deep gratitude and quiet guilt: a silent apology and thank-you to her sacrifice, captured forever in fragile, flawless white clay. 

自從家中養貓後，母親最愛的真百合因對貓有毒而絕跡。她默默捨棄喜好，只為讓我安心守護貓咪。這件作品承載感動與愧疚：對母親的感謝、對無法兼得的遺憾，唯用永恆的泥土記載。 

Inspired by GaakYoung's "Before I Died, I Want to Hear the Cat's Voice", this work is about the cat saving a person from attempting suicide.