Silent Marching

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Ut bibendum tortor sit amet ligula rutrum, at porta tortor convallis ...

I think I'm an artist, but also, I'm not an artist. According to the social custom that labour is an act done outside the home which is a private domain, and that it should be linked to monetary income in the context of capitalism, I am spending time resting at home without ever sitting down, even the basic acts of survival such as eating, sleeping, and excreting are limited. With the desire to find myself that is disappearing amid a series of acts that are not recognized as labour, I paint. It's an act for me, from my ego, from my sanctuary, and it's a genuine break.

For my art, I divide my "rest" time into pieces. The times I excavate are not consecutive. Sometimes for ten minutes, if lucky, half an hour, I collect the pieces. While my surroundings develop at a rapid pace, I move slowly through the time I have accumulated. Although the gap in time sometimes makes me nervous, I keep going at my own pace. Therefore, I exist.

Quietly and slowly, I have tried to look for my colour, never stopped, as if the sedimentary layers formed over a long period of time show their unique strata despite the surrounding pressure.