SAFE

In SAFE by Roshanak Morrowatian, the body tries to ground itself in shards of memory.

Between what is its own and what has been passed down, it searches for a way to relate. Where is it safe? With whom? And when.

In an almost compulsive attempt to gain control, to construct safety with tools that repeatedly fall short, the body moves between holding on and letting go. Safety does not appear as a given, but as something that must be rebuilt again and again, only to slip away just as often. What becomes visible is a restrained longing for shelter, tenderness, and the right to exist. A body trying to carry itself, with its own arms, its own warmth.