About

An Ongoing Study of Craving

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Puddin Approved began as an experiment.

Not in food, but in desire.

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Puddin is my first cat. She materializes from silence whenever cream is poured, cake sliced, any forbidden dairy unwrapped—drawn to what will harm her, what she cannot have. She does not hunger like other cats. She wants. My second cat, Jello, remains indifferent. He does not understand the architecture of longing.

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The objects appear edible—miniature pancakes, glazed surfaces, soft cream arrested in motion—yet remain deliberately inedible. They occupy the threshold between recognition and denial. The eye comprehends. The hand suspends.

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Each piece is sculpted slowly, preserving the trace of its making. Scale is diminished, texture amplified, warmth suggested but never delivered. Comfort is rendered unreachable.

 

Yet within this restraint lives joy.

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These miniatures are crafted from memory: the honeyed pastry glimpsed through a train window at dawn, the particular blue of café tiles in a city whose name you forget, the weight of a spoon held in a grandmother's kitchen. Travel through Europe and Asia compresses into surface—scent of cardamom, crack of sugar, gold leaf flaking in humid air. Nostalgia becomes form. The work celebrates the happiness found in small things—small in scale, small in moment—while acknowledging that such happiness is always, already, passing.

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"Approved" does not indicate permission to consume.

It signifies witness.

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Puddin—part apparition, part methodology—serves as the symbolic inspector of appetite. Nothing departs the studio without her sanction, a gesture that transfigures ordinary objects into artifacts of unfulfillment. She sees herself in them.

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These works are not concerned with sweetness.

They address restraint. Intimacy with the inaccessible.

The specific gravity of small things.

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Puddin Approved does not vend dessert.

It archives the condition of wanting.