The girl’s gaze, now in between hands
I’ve always thought art shouldn’t stay under glass. It needs to weave through everyday moments to stay alive.
When the girl’s gaze is on a mahjong tile, she’s no longer frozen in time. She becomes part of laughter over a game, a lucky draw someone remembers, a quiet pause between rounds.
Each shuffle, each hand that picks her up—adds a new thread to her story.
2025/12/30 Edited to
