Kaixiang Zhang
Whisper
yew, flax, jute and beeswax
320 x 100 x 30 cm
In January 2024, at my friend Loupe’s home in Eastbourne, she showed me her old wooden broom. Years of use had given the wood a deep, lustrous patina. Its head was broad and sturdy, with resilient plant fibers neatly woven into the frame. Whenever the bristles swept across the floor, a soft rustling echoed in the air, sounding like a breeze moving through a forest.
That night, an image surfaced in my mind: a broom that was simultaneously a swing and a sailboat. I imagined this object—once part of a living tree—returning to the branches to sway with the wind, opening a loop between life and death that threads through the tree, the broom, the earth, and the ground vegetation. As a vessel for the departed, the broom brushes against the living greenery with every tilt of the wind, creating a tender touch between the two realms. Whenever the breeze caught its "sail," it would lightly brush against the earth, producing a sandy rustle. That sound evoked memories of summer nights in my childhood, when my grandmother would cool me with her cattail leaf fan, her palm gently stroking my back. It also reminded me of the whispered murmurs I leaned in to catch when my grand-aunt lay on her sickbed.
I believe we shall meet again, amidst the thousand fleeting winds, where longing finds the ones we love.