Idle – Series

Artist statement

This series is about leaving traces. The traces of our identities, those that are invisible yet talkative, they’re in constant dialogue with us

We reflect ourselves in the spectacle of our minds and thus we emerge as made humans.

I am wondering about the finished, the being in motion. The resounding back and forth of life, we cling onto the versions of our selves, never to change, never to object to our past unless out of escape. Particles of our deeds infest the forest of our imagined lives, tumultuous scenes of serene clarity. We think who we are, we know what we’ll do. Why end the stroke then? Fear is force and light that transforms me. Literal has no space here, visual is fragment of the whole. An abyss of colour and scent.

When I try to think about my memories I see nothing. It escapes me. But I am me. Which memory then? I have many but don’t let myself wander into the river. The blackest black can be a reflective surface, like obsidian. When I take a look inside, it’s myself offering me a window, I just need a question. And I don’t know who I am if I just think about it. I only know when I see, in the life that unfolds. And I pick at it to wonder what makes me.