One of my beloved memories related to my grandparents’ house was the way they used to protect their dearest belongings. A small apartment, always smelling like pine cones and fresh honey, with a very uneven living room door and probably not the best place to be in if your body does not bear crowded spaces. The house was modestly divided into three rooms and a kitchen. My favourite spot was always the chamber where my grandmother used to keep her dearest and most precious objects. Somewhere, in a corner, there was this wooden chair on top of which you’d find some carefully curated and folded textiles. Its only purpose was to hold hers and her husband’s, my grandpa’s, ‘best clothes’ and their ‘most valuable fabric’. I don’t know if, at the time, they were aware of the new marvelous signification they awarded to that piece of furniture. But I am, and it served me as inspiration for this work. I have always been attracted to the superficial simplicity of domestic objects. The way they genuinely exist with a long-ago-decided purpose. My interest in what at first may seem mundane gently pushed me towards the idea behind my installation. It is not the purpose of the object that matters, but the way each person chooses to handle it. Time and memories, alongside emotional connections, revamp the object. And who else, if not people, are responsible for these invisible bonds?