In These are my vertebrae and Hu(e)sos, seven hand-blown borosilicate glass spools and three spindles are set in two separate clamshell boxes, invoking the stillness of an archaeological site. This precise arrangement, reminiscent of the display of grave goods in a museum, speaks to both absence and potential, offering a space where meaning is suspended, yet poised to unfold. These are my vertebrae places one vertical spool—Atlas—beside six horizontal spools, tracing the contours of neck and spine. The vertical spool, upright and unyielding, bears the weight of the others, much like the mythic figure who holds the world on his shoulders. Each spool, with its small openings, channels a lifeblood—echoing the vertebral arteries that carry blood to the brain and sustain the flow of thought and language.

The spindles, drawn from traditional forms in Northern Spain and France, invite engagement in the act of creation—of twisting fiber into thread. The spools, by contrast, offer a place to store this thread, safeguarding it for future use. In this relationship of creation and preservation, thread becomes a symbolic unit of language: wound, stored, and waiting to be woven into meaning. The glass objects, fragile yet enduring, evoke language itself: both solid and ephemeral, capable of being spun, unwound, and re-spun. In their stillness, These are my vertebrae and Hu(e)sos reflect on the absence of language while gesturing toward its endless potential, suspended between what has been and what might be.