Hind: €700
acrylic and oil on canvas
At three in the morning, sitting in front of a half-empty fridge and listening to its hum. Being illuminated by its light. Watching the cake you ate alone. Drinking alone. Having breakfast alone. The fridge drifts into the subconscious margins of everyday life, and today it becomes a slipping image, something falling out of grasp. Domestic space turns into a keeper of memory, significance, and (birthday) wishes. When we store food in the fridge, we extend its life. But what about cake? If we keep watching it, does the special day last longer, or does it fade faster instead? Are we refrigerators ourselves—preserving something within us from the outside world? Extending memories? What is their expiration date? What is… my expiration date? I can only hear my own whisper: Happy birthday… happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday…
