No definition of us is perfect, no observer can see all of us, no one is aware of the inner
layers, of the sense of worthlessness hidden in our achievements. To what extent does
being loved by others depend on our inherent and intrinsic values and to what extent it
depends on the external valuations?
My subconscious attempt to collect discarded items and change them into works of art
was liberating for me and allowed me to reconsider the roots of the sense of
worthlessness and think about this challenge that how much the place or geography
might influence the character and identity of a person or an object. It persuades me to
continue these reconstructions, and also made me look at the not-so-beautiful spaces
and parts of the city walls that are full of irrelevant and incomprehensible writings and
numbers. A worthless substance detached from this context tries to show off its new life
in a new body and place to the audience