Gilded Silence rests on a quiet imbalance. A tall wooden pedestal stands in the room, its balance shifted by a small stone from Vientiane placed beneath one of its corners. The change is subtle—almost imperceptible—yet it is enough to unsettle the entire structure.

At the top, a feather rests on a pebble taken from the gardens of Versailles, its surface gilded with real gold powder. The feather carries the inscription “There is nothing new except what has been forgotten,” allowing a fragment of the past to drift softly into the present. A lesser-known detail lingers in the background: Marie Antoinette once kept an African Grey parrot whose fate slipped into silence after her execution.

The work aligns three elements—stone, a gilded pebble, and a feather—into a fragile vertical line. Their weights are uneven, their roles quiet, yet each one shifts the meaning of the others. Gilded Silence moves between stability and disturbance, memory and disappearance, held together by forces that rarely announce themselves.