Sisa Masa

Sisa Masa reflects on home as a site where aging, loss, and inheritance converge, blurring memory and space. It traces how care settles into rooms, objects, and the people who hold us, asking how we release what we love while honoring its imprint.

Sisa Masa, which means “what’s left of time” in Indonesian, reflects on the shifting nature of home, living with change, and the ache of letting go. The work follows life’s cycles and the uncertainty time leaves behind, showing how home moves with us, shaped by loss, by what we build, and by the marks love leaves behind.

Time moves through the rooms I grew up in: a cleaver worn from years of family meals, sunlight settling on a kitchen table, and a mirror that has watched my family age and remake itself. The work begins in these childhood rooms into the places I inhabit today. Home emerges through what we return to, showing how care, repetition, and daily ritual bind different places with the same thread. A meal prepared, a room tended, woven into the pulse of everyday life.

But time reaches everything. Peeling paint, softened furniture, and the slow bend of aging hands show how a home shifts, even when we wish it would not. The familiar becomes tinged with longing. It holds what we love while also reminding us that nothing stays fixed, a place where devotion and loss coexist, and where I return knowing each visit marks another change.

Sisa Masa is less about where I come from than about learning how to live inside this passage of time. It sits with the ache of watching what once felt lasting begin to fade, and considers how to bear the melancholy of watching permanence give way to impermanence. The work pays attention to the ways life keeps moving even as pieces fall away, bears witness to how the past hums beneath the surface of the present, tracing the ordinary in an attempt to hold what is already disappearing, honoring the beauty that survives in what time leaves behind.