Holding the Floods
How does one embroider a flood? In this work, a wandering red thread pierces fragments of earth, attempting to hold them together. For a moment, the stitch appears to mend, to connect, to heal—yet the gesture reveals itself as fragile and temporary.
Like ancient migrations across the sea, I too crossed oceans on my way back to this land. My experience of migration, alongside my work with refugees in Canada, unsettled what once felt like an unquestioned sense of belonging. This work emerges from these questions: how does one connect to a place? Can one hold onto ground that is constantly in motion?
The act of stitching—a simple cross-stitch—becomes an act of repair, recalling the binding of fractures or the restoration of broken vessels. The seam line evokes borders, territories, and claims of ownership. Yet the tighter the stitch, the more the fragile loess soil crumbles and collapses.
The soil fragments, collected in the desert, retain their natural form—material shaped over millions of years by the movement of water. Tire marks embedded in the hardened surface connect past and present, motion and stillness.
The work reflects on the relationship between body, land, and identity, suggesting that belonging may not arise from possession, but from the ability to remain in motion within uncertainty.


Holding Ground
How does one embroider a flood? In this work, a wandering red thread pierces fragments of earth, attempting to hold them together. For a moment, the stitch appears to mend, to connect, to heal—yet the gesture reveals itself as fragile and temporary.
Like ancient migrations across the sea, I too crossed oceans on my way back to this land. My experience of migration, alongside my work with refugees in Canada, unsettled what once felt like an unquestioned sense of belonging. This work emerges from these questions: how does one connect to a place? Can one hold onto ground that is constantly in motion?
The act of stitching—a simple cross-stitch—becomes an act of repair, recalling the binding of fractures or the restoration of broken vessels. The seam line evokes borders, territories, and claims of ownership. Yet the tighter the stitch, the more the fragile loess soil crumbles and collapses.
The soil fragments, collected in the desert, retain their natural form—material shaped over millions of years by the movement of water. Tire marks embedded in the hardened surface connect past and present, motion and stillness.
The work reflects on the relationship between body, land, and identity, suggesting that belonging may not arise from possession, but from the ability to remain in motion within uncertainty.