The idea came from observing how different cultures speak about death – not as something distant, but as part of life. In some places, it’s silence, protective masks, and separation. In others, it’s flowers, food, and conversations with the departed. These are not opposites – just two ways of staying connected to the inevitable.
We started with the image of the plague doctor. Born in Europe during times of fear and isolation, his figure offered protection. But we wanted to give him a different perspective – not through drama, but through dialogue. That led us to the Mexican tradition, where death is approached directly, with warmth and care.
The process took time. We looked at street altars, sketches in old notebooks, listened to stories from people who prepare spaces of remembrance in their homes every year. We read, asked questions, paused, and returned.
This wasn’t about following a pattern – it was about learning how to build something that fits into both rhythms. Not by borrowing, but by respecting.
The mask turned out quiet. It doesn’t make statements or ask for explanations. It stands between two ways of seeing – and instead of choosing, it invites a pause. Just long enough to notice how they might belong together.