Latest research update.
I’ve finally reached that moment in the PhD journey where things start to click — not fully make sense yet (let’s be honest), but enough to realise:
oh… this is actually my research.
I’m beginning to understand how my art practice is my research — not just something I do alongside theory. Myth, folklore, rituals, bodies in motion, objects, performance — all the things I’ve been working with intuitively for years are now becoming my research questions, my methods, and my language.
Working between cultures (Kazakhstan ↔ Singapore) has shaped how I see traditions: both from inside and outside. I’m curious about how stories travel, how meanings shift, and what changes when living practices become archived, documented, or institutionalised.
Slowly learning to name what I do. Slowly learning to pronounce my research interests out loud without feeling like I’m faking it.
Feels like it’s finally time to start saying: this is my research, this is my method, this is my position.
Still at the beginning. Still confused. But excited to be here.
My question: how can we put sensory experiences in writing?
For me, putting sensory experience into writing means bringing the body back into the text. I try not only to explain what something means, but to express how it feels — through texture, movement, rhythm, and atmosphere.
I connect abstract ideas to physical sensations, to materials I work with, to the way the body moves and experiences space. I think of writing almost like choreography — allowing pauses, repetition, and shifts in rhythm.