River of Sand: A series of visual letters from the past written in the moment

It has not been long since my grandmother passed away. For me, it was like my armour being snatched from my body. For the last couple of months, my work was slow and after her death, I had stopped working altogether. I remained in her room, which is now my room. I used to go through her things, again and again, trying to find her fragrance and finding assurance in these objects that she had once touched.

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