Description: This sculpture is a reflection on lost beauty and the longing for days that are gone. A bent wooden branch carries shards of broken porcelain—once part of something whole, useful, and beautiful. Now, these fragments serve no function but to remind; they are incomplete, yet more meaningful than ever.
Form and Visual Composition
This small, minimal sculpture is grounded in raw, dark wood—an arched branch that seems to rise from earth and memory, carrying the weight of both decay and dignity. Along its gentle curve, small fragments of blue-and-white porcelain are arranged like heavy leaves of remembrance: scattered, broken, yet undeniably beautiful.
At the far tip, the branch curves inward, not as a gesture of growth—but of quiet recollection. This is not a sculpture about the future. It is about what remains.
Theme and Conceptual Depth
The work speaks to a past that was once good, and is now lost. The porcelain shards echo traditional vessels—symbols of domestic beauty, cultural continuity, and everyday grace. They are no longer whole, but their very brokenness gives them presence.
The branch becomes a metaphor for memory—carrying the weight of beauty once complete, now fragmented. And yet, this burden is neither heavy nor light. It is essential, because without memory, we are rootless.
Materials and Symbolic Language
Natural wood bears the textures of erosion and time. The shattered porcelain carries traces of forgotten elegance. The artist’s choice of materials is intentional: here, beauty is not in perfection—but in what remains after breaking. This sculpture doesn’t conceal the cracks; it frames them.
Emotional and Psychological Resonance
The piece draws the viewer inward—not with loudness, but with the hush of nostalgia. Each porcelain shard feels like a word from a sentence that will never be completed. It quietly asks:
Are we still part of that past?
Or do we simply carry fragments of its lost beauty?
Final Reflection
A Branch from Yesterday is a humble yet full-bodied work—full of memory, longing, and a dignified sadness. In a world rushing forward, it asks us to stop—and look back. Not to return, but to accept the value of beautiful ruins.
