Poliglocia

 For the last couple of months, I keep finding dolls on the street, in the trash, in dirty, forgotten corners. They haunt me, maybe they follow me, and I can't but look them in the eye. As they lie on the floor, their gaze is lost into nothingness, staring into the beyond, contemplating the strange fabric of this reality. Somehow, I feel this gaze also looks into me, as I have been discarded and broken so many times, and picked up my own limbs from out of trash bins, wondering whether I am meat or plastic or just some silly game. As dolls, we decide to turn our broken limbs into beauty and our pain into philosophy. Is this sublimation the most altruistic and productive way to overcome our misfortunes? Or is it just to ignore the true tragedy of our fate and to celebrate that which is our demise? This started as a personal project to work through my own traumas, make sense of symbols in my life as well as my own identity, and prove myself I could complete this kind of wor...