An ordinary departure crashed into an unforeseeable midpoint and ended in endless sorrow. Two forces rushing against each other—colliding in an instantaneous bang. What was the chance of this tragic event? The fate of death or of Genesis.

I imprint this Big Bang in plaster with steel and graphite. Flame-cut and melted scrap pieces, where sharp edges protrude dangerously. Scattered powders of metal and graphite—the ashes and matter. As time passes, the liquid gypsum that merged everything together begins to cure, uniting all into a solid, robust mass. As time passes, we grieve, we heal, and we remember. Yet the steel is constantly oxidizing, and its impact is gradually growing stronger and deeper. I raise these heavy plates and mount them on the wall, higher than the average eye level—their burden keeps them alive. I perceive them as fragments of time: a moment that will never be forgotten nor forgiven.

I imprint this Big Bang on paper with circular structures. It is the perpetual circular orbit of events, in the macrocosm of infinite possibilities, in the microcosm of a singular, unique creation—one splitting into two, becoming one again. Merging and bonding with each other, or traveling in parallel in harmony, they will continue.