After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.

After years of seeing me cry over dubious relationships, my father recently exclaimed in a mix of empathy and indignation: “I don’t want to see you waste another tear over boys that aren’t worth it”. Once masticated and digested, this very simple phrase lent itself as inspiration and reinterpretation for this present series.

There is something intensely beautiful about crying. It is a natural impulse triggered by an overpowering feeling, which purifies the soul.

I’ve always been the weeping type. Without any discrimination, these droplets of emotions plunge down my cheeks in an array of different circumstances. Be it extreme joy, love, frustration, sorrow, compassion, helplessness or any other overwhelming sensation, rest assured that at least one tear will be manifested.

There are some who think it a sign of weakness in lacking self control or view it as faintness of character but I rather see them as the purest form of unspoken universal expression.

How to capture such tiny streams of salty passions or materialize that which is easily absorbed, evaporated or brushed dry by automatic gestures as soon as it comes to being?

Once tears start parading down from welled-up eyes, a tissue lends itself to appease the issue. With a whole box of this unassuming and ordinary material, a serendipitous solution comes to play by using tissues as vessels to create sculptures of my own tears.

As aforementioned, the act of crying in my case is enticed by a variety of different conditions that give form to the series’ glorification of the tear.

What began as a desire to process my father’s wishes of giving greater value to my tears and consequently myself, resulted in the veneration of the tear as a symbol of sensitivity and beauty instead of viewing it as waste or regret.

I noticed that after materializing my emotions, no matter what the case in point may have been, the result was always beautiful.

The aesthetic beauty of each piece made apparent that what lay at the core was something far more important, bringing forth the realization that tears are the manifestation of surrender;
surrender to extreme happiness, surrender to sadness, to confusion, to disbelief, surrender to whatever moves or touches a sentimental chord in ones’ being.

This act, the act of crying or surrendering to an overpowering feeling then becomes a surrendering of the ego. Even if the tears may have been caused by egocentric purposes, once the body regurgitates that which stirs its existence, there is nothing more than an honest distillation of selfless beauty, claiming no resistance.

There is no such thing as wasted tears no matter how prosaic the issue may be. Furthermore, we should be thankful for their role as channels of relief. If by chance the culprit were love, it is better to have loved intensely and cried if it ends than to have kept oneself from doing so in fear of exposing vulnerability.

Tears, the nectar of our emotions and that which makes us human can thus never be wasted for they are the body’s instinctive means to serenity and hence the protagonists of this ode in their honor.