I think one of the strangest things about growing up is realizing how much of life disappears without asking permission.
A shirt you wore every week. A game you played until it got dark. A CD you thought you would keep forever. None of it felt important while it was happening. It was just life.
This piece starts with the 1994 Mexico shirt and reconstructs it around that feeling.
At the center is a pixelated CD shortcut, like a little piece of an old computer somehow found its way onto a football shirt. Beneath it reads EVERYTHING VANISHES EVENTUALLY.
It sounds sad, but I don’t think it is.
Things ending is part of what makes us love them. The moment becomes a memory, the memory becomes nostalgia, and somehow we keep finding new places for it to live.
Here, an old football shirt meets the digital world that came after it, then becomes something new in the present.
The back reads ANEMOIA 33.
Everything vanishes eventually.
Maybe that is exactly why we should be here for it while it lasts.
