Common Fate

There is a certain poetry in abandonment, a quiet narrative that emerges when objects, once part of daily life, are left to weather the seasons. Here, a potted plant—its container fractured but still holding its fragile inhabitant—leans against the white planks of a wall. Beside it, an old wooden chair, tipped forward, legs worn and uneven, stands as if caught mid-fall.

Both share the same exile: placed outdoors, exposed to the damp green creep of moss and the chill of winter air. Their once-practical roles—providing comfort, holding life—have shifted into symbols of transience. The wood of the chair, scarred by years of use, echoes the plant’s brittle stems. Each has its own biography, but now they converge in a single tableau of neglect.

The frame is uncluttered, the background plain, ensuring the viewer’s gaze settles on the quiet parallel between the two. This is not a staged still life, but an unvarnished moment of truth: in time, the natural elements claim all, whether rooted in soil or crafted by hand.