The beginning dawn is external darkness diffusing in wilderness, permeating with flecking tracing marks.
Bald jungles, faeries’ former residence, all was quiet with no one, but there is still mysterious pathway snaked around, sometimes indistinct, sometimes visible, which makes people difficult to follow. Only the audacious and hesitated people can see its clue, pay attention to its details and hunt its trace. The path slung up in the midair high or low inexplicitly. That’s called sparkling signpost. Life with doing nothing; mystery with no result; travel with no destination; what exists is only the process of hunting. Chant or croon; dazzling turned over and over, squinting in the sky; beauty and devil overflowing; cruise alone outwardly or take a closer look to confirm still be there or not. It seems no more than just “seems” ……
What I concerned more is the cadence between contradictory and coordination and my sentimental attachment to the expression of failure. It seems to be that more complicated issue is fairly far than the complicated one, and no more illusions rising from than the occasional self-breakdown did. Muttering, misunderstanding, language, plot, theme are nothing but beautiful.
The greatest collapse in the painting is nothing but the clue of difficulty. Modification came out unexpected result. All possibilities are every one’s possibility. All elements turbid and blocked stumbled at each step or unable to make your story sound plausible, smoothly came or un-smoothly went , light and shade…… Keep still.
Therefore, I also care about the process of being poetic and magical change, telling a story with no result; time with no master; ends with no corpse, no truth, neighbor village has electricity; many seemingly existence, many real illusions. For events was even made up so perfunctorily. Weirdness finally became the predominate clue in process. Ridiculousness became the bottleneck to a higher level. Those hoarse metaphor, those deja vu mysterious “tongue-lash”, those well-mastered context just as the sublimation from bottom upward,was spread in the stumbled and hesitated whimpers. I was intoxicated by the fully twisty wonders. The swashbuckling or ineffable rhythm; wandering at the crossroads, fun of sitting-nap.
Crawled as mud-dog in the rain overnight, napping.