Maria Thaddea

An ongoing exploration into ancestral veneration 

An altar cabinet of sorts

from an eldest daughter.

of an eldest daughter,

of an eldest daughter,

of an eldest daughter

Made of muddled layers of patterns learnt, misconstrued and understood

Through lines said, left unsaid and read between

Of different mothers, mother-tongues

- equal parts familiar and dissonant

Patterns carved into being

Perfect valleys to bear blame

To let nestle - to accommodate

always

to bear till overflow

I am here – from all the oldest daughters before me. 
A cheeky little princess from a long line of oldest daughters.
Though I am not where or who they were – I am an amalgamation of their stories and cultures passed down through mother-tongues.

An interpretation of ancestral veneration – a version concocted through the eyes of a cheeky little princess, all grown up, as she pulls from a hodgepodge of childhood cultural memories of playing tjongklak, ancestral prayer tables at ama’s and longevity bowls.

A rose-tinted frilly façade of homage hiding an innate fear of diasporic cultural blurring.

a set of tiles glazed with my beloved chemical compound - copper carbonate

a subconscious longing - against all better judgement - for longevity; strings attached, all wrapped, tangled and knotted

Love passed down by mother tongues,

only ever tasted - fairly unheard

‘I love you’s implied between lines of cut fruit

All that’s left are the nectar stains,

subtly shimmering - almost out of view