At first glance, Suicide Machine Sand looks like an intricate object without any function. It invites observation, its sublte motion drawing the viewer in, urging them to understand its purpose.

A slow trickle of sand, almost imperceptible at first, cascades into the gears. What seems incidental begins to take shape as something more profound—an inevitability, a quiet sabotage. With growing unease, the viewer realizes the truth: the machine is not simply running; it is destroying itself. Every grain wears down its mechanisms, every turn brings it closer to failure.

And yet, despite its lack of human featuresit slowly starts to move the viewer. A quiet sorrow, an unexpected empathy. The more one watches, the more this strange creation becomes something to care for—something fragile, despite its mechanical shell.

In the end, the machine does not stop suddenly but fades away slowly, destroyed by the very process that once gave it purpose.