received the latest issue of muse and u-magazine from the curator. i'd rather have them publish my artist statement which is a much better representation of the series. was never a fan of exhibitions until haizi and i spent two nights constructing this concept, summarizing my 3 (or 27) years of sloth. it was initially meant to dope the artsy-fartsy (yeh, they were impressed, i tell you). but at the end of the day, you cannot deny that there's reality in that flowery language.
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Self-blended Perfume (2007)
Rumours were that there was this exceptional tango dancer whose partner is always a homemade pole attached to a wheel. I finally ran into the legendary man on the dance floor and while the rest of the crowd was giggling, I thought I saw him swirling with a lady in a blood-red dress. It was almost as if the air has frozen, the sweat has melted the skin, the music has refused to stop, the torso has discarded its habitual defensiveness, and the pores were touched by the touch. The entire world was reduced to just him and “her” in a bubble. The moment was theirs.
This frozen moment has frosted my mind and stimulated this masturbative series on a Walter Mitty retreating into her own comfort zone. She finds her refuge yet senses the insecurity and vulnerability of the almost immaculate world she creates. Her state of mind is fluctuating and yet simultaneously falling into a pattern, as demonstrated in each picture which is going through a stage in the water cycle. There are moments of self-indulgence and instant gratification (snowmelt); self-delusion (mirage); repressed desires (condensation); spiritual vacuum (drought); disunion of personal shield (defrost). They will somehow accumulate on the top of the mountain, and when everything suppressed has become somewhat a burden it is only natural that a catastrophic avalanche (the unveiling of hidden desires) is to follow.
You can almost hear, amidst the glamour and vibrant colours, a silent cry at the top of the lungs.
And it was until recently that I discovered that it was my voice.
Rumours were that there was this exceptional tango dancer whose partner is always a homemade pole attached to a wheel. I finally ran into the legendary man on the dance floor and while the rest of the crowd was giggling, I thought I saw him swirling with a lady in a blood-red dress. It was almost as if the air has frozen, the sweat has melted the skin, the music has refused to stop, the torso has discarded its habitual defensiveness, and the pores were touched by the touch. The entire world was reduced to just him and “her” in a bubble. The moment was theirs.
This frozen moment has frosted my mind and stimulated this masturbative series on a Walter Mitty retreating into her own comfort zone. She finds her refuge yet senses the insecurity and vulnerability of the almost immaculate world she creates. Her state of mind is fluctuating and yet simultaneously falling into a pattern, as demonstrated in each picture which is going through a stage in the water cycle. There are moments of self-indulgence and instant gratification (snowmelt); self-delusion (mirage); repressed desires (condensation); spiritual vacuum (drought); disunion of personal shield (defrost). They will somehow accumulate on the top of the mountain, and when everything suppressed has become somewhat a burden it is only natural that a catastrophic avalanche (the unveiling of hidden desires) is to follow.
You can almost hear, amidst the glamour and vibrant colours, a silent cry at the top of the lungs.
And it was until recently that I discovered that it was my voice.
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