My body reacts strongly to the word “surrender”, my pores open, and my muscles soften. 
The word brought me back to this chair I made, shaped from my romanticised ideas of them; from looking at the act of sitting as an act of surrendering, we surrender to the gravity and let the structure take over.

Chairs hold us, yet allow us to be a floating island where our individuality is cradled. They absorb our heat while we are pressing into that very place of stored emotions. 
A chair feels like a witness. And if it were to change its shape every time it carried a little moment of us, I imagine this is how it would be