gabrieli garcia
naomi white
2025, Wood, paint, arduino, sand, mirror, epoxy, moto
6.5 x 2 x 2 feet
Here I sit, legs crossed and hunched over, jean shorts pressed into the sandy dirt as my fingertips skim the lake’s surface. The gentle rhythm is interrupted by residual waves from passing pontoons, disrupting my delicate performance. Frustrated, I plunge both hands into the murky water, pushing downwards—thick clay, slimy detritus, and scattered rocks engulfs up to my wrists. With a gurgle and a gulp, the lake swallows my hands whole. With my body bound to the earth I let my mind wander. What will become of me if I allow myself to embrace risk?
Is safety worth the cost of silence? What does it look like to find balance between emotional vulnerability and self-protection? The waves have settled, and I am met with my reflection looking up at me. What does she want now? I meet her gaze, moments pass as we silently analyze each other, every detail, every mark, trying to recognize the reflection I call my own. Do you think it's true? Can we ever fully heal if we refuse to be vulnerable again?