Traces of the moment, shells are the remnants of simple gestures: cracking, eating, discarding. Pistachio shells, walnut shells, dry fragments of everyday pleasure. They come from my own consumption, collected one by one, like fragments rescued from discard. They are the modest witnesses of a completed act, of a fulfilled need, of a moment often invisible. But instead of disappearing, they become material. Recycled, repurposed, they rise beyond their original function. Each shell is an empty vessel, but also an imprint: of the hand, of time, of the living. An abandoned shell, yes, but one filled with memory. To elevate these remains is to give value to what we forget. It is to let beauty emerge where we do not expect to find it.