Talking about these works, their existence originates from loneliness, from my interior. However, they not only come from the expression of the self, some are more related to a greater background, to history. Especially Chinese history.
My recent readings and the observation of reality make me think that ours is not only a lonely history, it is even determined by some destiny, without any possibility to escape. So, looking at these things I really can’t figure out how they can still be useful. They have no use except for the fact that they can be sold. I often feel that we are constantly waiting for a real shock. This will not come from reality though, as reality is life’s leftovers, but from something other people say: through other people’s ‘mouth’ we are reminded that reality around us is really surprising and unpredictable.
What we can see nowadays won’t make our hearts quiver, because everything appears too tiny and the vast background is just too dark. I hope that, like when the dust floating in the air becomes visible in the light, everybody’s heart will be troubled a little bit, so that my aim does not die without even suffering.