A morning’s walk in Mokpo, South Korea
Shall I tell you a story? Or shall I imagine your story? Largely the same except for the details the details that matter at least but details without context? No! Never! Those lies those dreams those suggestions turning knowledge into mysticism with a shortened dense passage of time 1928 a special year we surmise from the paint strip samples of history we try to imagine its reverse rainbow but the abandonment of reason the acceptance of nothing but more than we had bargained for for they had the right idea believe it or do not believe it we are in a race against sometime someday the sofa the chair the pixelated universe that feeling when you have left home for the final time you a stranger walking the streets of a strange city marveling at the sensations passing before you things that were so familiar to you yet now so very foreign the excitement of seeing the universe in a fallen faded chipped facade no different than your hometown’s crummy chipped facade yet you could not see the magic then there. Sitting on a cornflake a baby somewhere in the wilderness of 1948 did not die but used perfection as a substitute for completion even if you are awake . . . this artist’s statement was not written by AI.