In this performance, a pen glides repeatedly across the same surface. The repetition —1, 2, 3, 4…— insists on constructing a poem that cannot be erased. Each stroke affirms its presence, but also wears down the surface that holds it.

As the gesture continues, the surface begins to crack, to deform, and eventually breaks. From this process emerges a paradox: the creation of the poem inevitably involves the destruction of its support. The grandiose, the act that strives to endure, ultimately crumbles to dust.
The work reflects on the fragility of creative acts, on how the need to express can wear down, transform, or even annihilate what contains it. The persistence of the poem coexists with the finitude of the material that receives it.



The title Ozymandias is no accident: it evokes the illusion of permanence that accompanies any act of creation. Just like the statue in Shelley’s poem, once proclaiming greatness and now reduced to ruins in the desert, here the poem insists on existing while its support falls apart. The work suggests that even the most grandiose gestures—those that aim to endure—are destined to confront their own fragility. To create, in this context, is also to accept the inevitability of erosion.