This work transforms the novel into a layered sculptural scene by carving through its pages and revealing an unexpected image embedded within the book’s body. Each cut follows a soft, wave-like rhythm, creating a hollowed terrain that frames a vintage photograph at the center. The carved shapes expose fragments of text, allowing the narrative to filter through in partial, unstable glimpses.

The inserted photograph—placed without altering the book’s exterior—depicts a small group of people balancing on a plank, a moment suspended between playfulness and precarity. Their presence inside the carved cavity suggests a buried memory or an accident unearthed from the book’s interior. The layers of paper become both landscape and artifact, holding the figures as if they were discovered rather than added.

Nothing external is attached to the pages; the sculptural depth is created solely by removing material and revealing what lies beneath. The Curator becomes a meditation on excavation and narrative: a book that is physically “curated” from the inside out, where text, image, and absence work together to expose an alternate story hidden within its pages.