The egg begins as a shell. It’s smooth, opaque, resistant to light. At first, I only saw fragments, individual images that I collected without thinking too hard. But 256 of them, when gathered, began to reveal a larger shell, something enclosing me, something that also is me. The egg is a sequence. It starts from whole to cracked, from cracked to broken, from broken to reborn. My book follows this arc. It doesn’t tell a single story, but a shifting movement of feelings. The whole project catches feelings of curiosity, nostalgia, discomfort, fascination. Each little zine layered on top of each other like thin membranes.
I chose 226 images from my first 256 collection. That number felt right because it is my birthday, February 26. The project bent itself to my own rhythm. My name carries this inside it too. In Chinese, one of my characters is dan (“egg”). It’s a homophone that folds me into the project before I even begin. This is not just a metaphor. I am the egg. My book is both self-portrait and archive.
Patterns started to appear as I collected the images. I realized I’m drawn to fragility. I’m really into things that are translucent, soft, or delicate, often on the edge of breaking. While I am growing up, I’m really into diverse stuff. I like design that carries memory and emotion, that connects the past with the present. I also noticed I avoid things that feel too rigid, mechanical, or sterile.
What excites me is the surprise of connections. The cycle of the egg helps me a lot to categorize all the images in a reasonable sequence. I’m excited by fragility and contradiction. I use lace as my important element in this project. I think lace is soft but strong. They are delicate but carry weight, so I use it to bind my zines. It’s also one of playful elements like bows or toys that also hold deeper stories about memory and identity. What’s more, I get energy from unexpected visual connections. When an image of old books, movies, or a doll suddenly echoes the cycle of the egg.
In the process I want to highlight that the egg is both fragile and eternal. It protects life but also contains decay. In my images, I’m mapping myself into this paradox. I realized I like things that confuse categories. Something is girlish and gothic, fragile and powerful, kitsch and sacred.
Unexpectedly, the structure of the book itself began to echo the themes inside it. The set of 7 chapters rests inside a drawer-style sleeve box. It’s a container that invites the audience to pull, to reveal, to participate in the act of uncovering.
The chapters unfold in sequence, just like membranes peeling back. Each zine reveals another layer of the shell. Only after moving through the entire cycle, the audience arrives at the bottom of the box. There is a broken egg printed inside, with part of the yolk exposed. This final image is deliberate, because I want to show that after reviewing all the zines, the audience finally glimpses what lies within me. Not everything, but a piece which is vulnerable, imperfect, alive.
In this way, the book becomes more than an archive. It is an experience of discovery of myself. Smoothness gives way to cracks, and eventually the shell opens just enough for light to pass through. The egg, in the end, is not only the subject of my project but its container and its truth. I also want to use the structure of the egg to evoke people’s thoughts about their own growth.
Cover.
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
Content Sheet.