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Excerpt from Atonement, by Ian McEwan

"Writing stories not only involved secrecy, it also gave her all the pleasures of miniaturization. A world could be made in five pages, and one that was more pleasing than a model farm. The childhood of a spoiled prince could be framed within half a page, a moonlit dash through sleepy villages was one rhythmically emphatic sentence, falling in love could be achieved in a single word - a glance. The pages of a recently finished story seemed to vibrate in her hand with all the life they contained..."

Why Literature? (written in 2019 before I venture into the world of text)

Certainly there are differences between text, painting and photography, but they all share the mutual existence as devices of communication, which are also, enigmatic in nature that defies direct communication. I am profoundly fascinated by the paradoxical binaries in them, which enable us to reveal oxymorons and discourses in real life through our reflection, creation and response to specific works. Indeed, our unique ways of apprehension of certain art medium's characteristics would mark a fallacy of generalization in my assumption, nevertheless as an art enthusiast and a curious human being, I do not wish to weigh their values against each other as they are of equally importance in the process of attaining self-knowledge and self-expression. Hence, there has been text written in form of paintings, paintings in form of text and so on - this innumerable dialectic relationship between them is also another excitement that captures my heart.

Finally, I regard literature as my life-long sanctuary - where I can obscure myself or fragments of myself from the limelight while leaving a secret pathway that keeps me connected to the outer world (in the otaku-style). Reading and writing are stuffs that I feel satisfied doing again and again in life, simple as that.

Excerpt of An Ordinary Landscape (written in 2017 as a gallery intern)


"Fitzgerald once wrote in The Great Gatsby, "In the city, there are only the pursued, pursuing, the busy and the tired."  - that is what I call the 'metamorphosis' of the people in this city. And in this sense, I suddenly see the stagnation of the sculpture as a disruption and silent protest against the city. Beyond his rigid eyes made of iron and fiberglass, I see a naked existence - a man who does not suffer from working, speaking, listening and moving. He is in the world that we are living in, yet separated by pieces of glass, concrete and metal. He declares his position on top of everything, like a foreigner colonizing the land under his feet. His standing posture represents nothing but everything - the people who are waiting for buses and metros; the salesperson who has been standing for the whole day in accumulation of her back pain; the person who is waiting for his food in disposable lunch boxes; and me, I see myself standing as well, naked in front of a glass mirror. What am I? Where am I standing in this city?"

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