Before undergoing surgery, I traveled to the outskirts of Copenhagen and stood before the vast white cliffs of Møns Klint. I had gone seeking a pause, a reset of body and spirit, on my way to see my brother, who was preparing to open a new restaurant in Gothenburg. What I encountered there was not simply landscape, but a revelation. The cliffs appeared monumental, almost intimidating in their grandeur. They felt like the terrains of life itself; steep, ancient and immovable. Yet when I reached out to touch the surface, it crumbled softly into powder in my hand. Something so mighty was also astonishingly fragile.

In that gesture, I understood something essential: fragility does not negate endurance. Even this soft and breakable chalk has withstood centuries of wind, tide and time. That paradox mirrors the quiet strength I carry as a woman, as an immigrant, as a body preparing to be opened and healed.

Through layered surfaces and light-responsive materials, I reflect on this encounter between monumentality and tenderness. The works hold the tension between fear and renewal. Like the cliff face, we may shed fragments of ourselves, yet we remain shaped by time, weathered by experience and still standing.

These are the stories I keep: the moments when softness reveals its strength.