Toothache
Ceramics, Glass, Pins
Size Varies
Glaze: Cone6 Master Clear
Clay: White Porcelain
Teeth’s little Manifesto
Even as the body decays, teeth endure for tens of thousands of years. Archaeologists trace the rhythms of past lives through these hard, calcified remnants. They knock against each other, rattling, clicking, grinding —— they finally shed their organic hosts. But outlive them, and capable of eternity. That's the compelling dynamics between teeth and time —— they mark time’s passage, yet refuse to submit to it. The most troublesome, stubborn wisdom teeth are considered by modern evolutionists as useless remnants left over from the evolutionary process spanning millions of years.
Teeth, eternal witnesses of time, become its measurement. And here lies the pun: Evolution accumulates. History accumulates. Experience accumulates. And with time, there must be an ample amount of accumulated teeth.
My teeth are not good friends of mine. When I was little, they were the excuse for denied sweets, and adults in my family told me about folk beliefs on how to discard lost baby teeth so that permanent ones would grow straight. I must have done it wrong to have a problematic set of teeth. The problems accumulated over the years, I got fillings regularly, I wore braces that scraped my mouth for years, until last summer when my upper and lower jaws had to be cut open and rejoined. It ends up taking away 200cc of blood, a few bones, 2 weeks of talking, and 1 month of chewing food. Perhaps that’s why I make teeth now. A quiet compensation, a subconscious bargain. If I only could, I’d make a deal with all the dentists I’ve ever met before, and swap our places.
See, teeth, just like time, hold my memories hostage. They will stay with me for as long as I live, their looseness mirrors my looseness on this earth. One day, I will be gone. But perhaps some of them will still cling to me.
My beloved grandfather died of cancer last month. And I wondered, what lingers beyond his finite life? What remains of him in my hands?
Teeth.
In that brownish-red wooden box I’ve never dared to imagine too much and have a chance to hold in person—poised and lightweight, now reduced to fine white powder.
On this measurement of time, I live horizontally but miss you vertically. It is the inflamed wisdom tooth of my life, one I will bear until the very
end.
🦷
