Duck Dead

Duck Dead

At first glance, this series might seem like a joke: a plush duck hanging, drawn with an almost childlike tenderness. But it isn’t. These two drawings speak of the passage of time, of silent wear, of the invisible resilience hidden in the everyday.

This duck has been a mute witness to many stories. It has passed from hand to hand, has accompanied, has endured, and has held on despite everything. There comes a moment when even the most innocent, most faithful objects begin to show the marks of use, of fatigue, of the accumulated weight of always being present.

Between the two drawings there are only slight differences: a minimal shift in posture, a nuance in the objects surrounding it. Like memory itself, it is never exactly the same. What we remember also deforms, wears down, is pressed a little more each time.

There is no drama or irony in these images. There is a kind of fragility that speaks of all of us: of the burdens we carry, of the days that weigh on us, of the trials that sometimes overwhelm. And yet — though bent, hung, suspended — the duck remains. It does not break. It does not complain. It simply is.

Duck Dead does not pretend to offer answers. It only opens a space to look differently: to think about what we keep silent, what we sustain, who we remain even when it seems we can no longer go on.