While walking one day, I saw a shattered glass bottle lit by a ray of sunlight, revealing its transparency and green reflections. I began imagining how many new lives that glass could have lived, had it not been discarded by careless hands. I felt a deep connection—so often, I too have felt broken. Yet I’ve always managed to reassemble myself and start anew.
As I looked at the fragments, I saw myself in them—until I no longer knew if I was observing the glass, or if it was observing me. It seemed to ask me: “You, as an artist—what could you create from what remains of me?”
That question became an eye in my mind, staring back.
I replied: “I will turn this broken life into a work of art.”
And so I did.
Each time I’ve shattered, I’ve found a new beginning.
Maybe it was the glass speaking—or maybe it was my soul answering itself.