Some of the objects I use are ordinary, almost invisible in daily life: a chicken tray, two bottles that I borught from my home country whose design is absent in Australia, carrying with them the specific histories of where I lived and how I used them; and a seaweed snack tray. Once cement is poured, dries, and the container peeled off, their origins blur; one is left to wonder why these containers were made the way they were, what they once carried, and why.

This work does not claim sustainability. Rather, it critiques disposability, revealing how plastic is embedded in daily life with little thought for its afterlives. By converting refuse into objects of adornment, I invite viewers to pause and wonder what these objects carried and the overlooked connections between design, consumption, and debris. Jewellery, here, becomes a site for slowing down, an invitation to notice how the sculptural and the everyday intertwine, looking beyond what its given.

I have always thought about the people behind the objects I handle. Each tray, label, or bottle carries with it the aspirations, wounds, and realities of those who brought it into being. When I clean the plastic tray of chicken fillets at home, I notice its quiet elegance and the way it obediently follows the mould. There is a beauty in such designs, in their lightness, which deceives the true weight they carry.

That weight is what I try to translate into corporeal form. I repurpose plastic bottles from vinegar, milk, and juice used in my home, cutting, crushing, and reshaping them into modules for necklaces. These are combined with glass beads, creating a deliberate contrast between fragility and endurance, the artificial and the elemental. Each necklace is labour intensive: beaded crochet, threading, saw-pierced metal, and hand-assembled plastic. The intricacy of these processes heightens the tension between the speed of consumption and the slowness of making.