‘Nu ma intelegi si asta e okay’

Why is land so important, and what does it mean to belong to it or be a part of it? Or not? Land is intrinsic to our identity – a reflection of belonging, or the lack of it. It embodies a system of barriers, dividing people or leaving them disconnected. 

My practice initially explored the economic and political systems shaping migration in the UK, particularly for Romanians. Over time, it evolved into something more embodied: a way of articulating internal states as a Romanian who moved to the UK at a young age through physical form. My sculptures act as extensions of myself - fragmented, fragile, trying to hold together roots from two places. These works are about adapting, preserving and sometimes breaking apart to rebuild. Inspired by Herman de Vries’ words, ‘I show what I have seen happening, what I have seen being,’[1], I see my work as an act of witnessing. I choose elements of nature – dead branches, soil, natural paints (turmeric, paprika, wild clay), to speak about the immigrant experience, to question what it means to rebuild a sense of self across cultures and land.

In the first exhibition, Kaos,I installed Go Home: We Don’t Want You, a piece that examined the Romanian immigration system. The installation used dried branches wrapped in strips of canvas fabric embroidered with Romanian landscapes. The branches rested on artificial wood, an unstable system that has collapsed but is still nurtured and preserved by its people – fractured yet not lifeless. Inspired by Henrique Oliveira’s sculptural trees, especially, Desnatureza 6[2],the tree remained central in my work. His transformation of salvaged wood into dynamic forms deeply influenced my approach, drawing me to the tree’s natural form and its symbolic, structural and disruptive power. Giuseppe Penone’s words ‘A tree’s body is itself a sculpture’[3], influenced my work as I use branches from trees.

Another key influence on my work is Berni Searle’s Authentic/ Ex-centric[4],which like my piece I am not part of one, uses soil and the body to explore displacement. I relate to that in betweenness: I created two soil circles for Romania and England. During the performance, I was pushed by two others, enacting a symbolic struggle of being caught between identities. This simple but powerful movement marked a turning point in how I approached my work – not just as objects but as moments of transformation. 

Locked up was a free-standing sculpture of dead branches screwed together, exploring how my cultural roots have been silenced. This time, embroidery only on new linen to clarify the message and imagery.  Later, I destroyed this work in Rupture, reflecting the emotional complexity of navigating dual belonging. Through this destruction, I allowed space for vulnerability and reconstruction.

As I continue to learn the art of embroidery[5],my stitches are still somewhat unrefined, but I find value in the handmade quality of this work. This imperfect, tactile element adds a sense of authenticity and connection to the tradition I am honouring, while also reflecting the personal journey of mastering this craft. These traditional Romanian symbols serve as cultural markers, but I also use them to ask: what does it mean to display, preserve, or even perform culture? Especially when navigating systems that want to erase or distort it?

Embroidery, like many traditions, is fading – less practiced, less visible.[6]For me, it’s a quiet protest.[7] A resistance to disappearance. A way to speak when language or belonging feels inaccessible. 

My work depicts how disrupted systems impacted roots and belonging. I am in the process of understanding my place on this earth, but how can I find purpose if my roots seem lost? How can I belong to one system yet feel disconnected from another? And yet belong to two but not one? 

These questions I may never fully answer but through my practice, I hold space for them. The work exists in that tension-between loss and growth, silence and articulation, between being from two places but fully belonging to neither. And perhaps that’s the point. Not to be resolved, but to remain open.