I approach the exhibition not as a finished result, but as part of an ongoing research process. It functions as a space for thinking—where questions are explored through material, movement, objects, and encounters with others. Rather than offering fixed conclusions, the exhibition allows ideas to be tested in real time, in relation to an audience.
At the centre of this research are mythological beings: how they emerge within different cultures, what they represent, and how they shape ways of understanding the world. These figures are not decorative symbols. They carry cultural knowledge and move across time, places, and belief systems. I am especially interested in why mythological beings are so often connected to ritual, performance, and embodied practices.
I do not see mythic figures as expressions of personal psychology. Instead, I approach them as forms of transmission. Their meaning is not fixed but activated by context—by the moment, the place, and the people present. When they exist within a network of bodies, objects, space, and attention, their meaning emerges through interaction rather than representation.
This leads me to questions about storytelling and how knowledge is passed on. When we listen to a story, authorship is usually not the most important part. What matters is the structure of the story, the turning point, and the lesson it carries. This raises a key question: what is lost or changed when a story is written down instead of told?
In my practice, I explore what disappears when stories are fixed in written form. Knowledge—especially moral or ethical knowledge—does not always need words. It can be carried through gesture, rhythm, action, or repeated movement. In this way, knowledge can be embodied and experienced rather than explained.
This is particularly clear in dance. What kind of knowledge is transmitted when movement is shared—by one body or by many moving together? Similarly, when we encounter a small cultural object, what does it communicate through its material presence, without language?
If knowledge works as part of a system, then rituals—and even everyday actions—have a teaching dimension. This aligns with theories that understand knowledge as something performed, not only written.
One such framework appears in Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak’s Can the Subaltern Speak? (1988), where she describes Hindu law as a system made up of four interconnected modes of knowledge: what is heard, what is remembered, what is learned, and what is enacted through social practice. In this model, knowledge is constantly reshaped through repetition, memory, and action.
Here, performance is not secondary to meaning but essential to it. Knowledge exists not only in texts, but in bodies, movements, objects, and repeated acts. This perspective helps me understand exhibition-making, ritual, and dance as active forms of research and living systems of knowledge transmission.
At the same time, I recognize that my reading does not fully resolve Spivak’s main argument. Rather than offering answers, her text reveals the limits of representation and the silences produced by dominant systems of knowledge. I accept her conclusion, but my engagement with it remains unresolved.
This unresolved tension becomes productive in my practice. It strengthens my interest in forms of knowledge that exist beyond speech and writing—where meaning is carried through embodiment, repetition, and action rather than through text or authority.