A scar...

一道疤，是褪色的時間，被綁架在來不及腐爛的傷口之上。

空白很久，仍舊逃避不了日曆上那些刺眼的數字，如打卡鐘般機械式的掉落、拾起、壓縮、推進、真空。最後，被打包成透明的萬年曆，懾人的輪迴，無聲運轉著。假裝，充其量只是應急用的消炎藥。釋懷，卻是強效止痛錠。然後，上癮，絕對的後遺症。

A scar marked a period of fading time, which is kidnapped by a rotten wound.

Mar, Apr, May...a blank space. A blank but filled with those irritating figures which work on the punch card as a mechanical rhythm. Eventually, those turned into a perpetual calendar, fell into its destiny, and were separated into past and future...without now.

A scar inked a piece of sinking memory, which indirect cause sequela to happen without being noticed.

show time

這是一場大型聯展，在倫敦，在泰悟世河旁的倉庫，在英倫罕見大雪過後第三天，在攝氏零度沒有暖氣的廢棄倉庫內，在心力交瘁趕工趕趴之際，在論文季節來臨前夕，在與前一個他說再見之後，在遇見下一個他之前。

雖非個人秀，雖然開幕當晚熱鬧無比，雖然該來的都到齊，獨缺席的...也許正是手持攝影機的那位。

Facade

What is this word "I" ?

It composed of memory, experience, hate, love, regret, desire, diary, style, tattoo, thought, idea, an alias or a surname...

Author is an "I", audience is an "I", and artwork is also an "I".
Each party all wants to be the first person, the first person of this context.

Who can invent "I" ?
Who can occupy "I" ?
Who can explain "I" ?

姑且把曖昧放一邊，氛圍的塑造是長期失眠得來。遊走夢與醒的邊際，“我”這個主體的思維再清晰不過，只不過，是真是假，如同羅生門的答辯般，無解。對稱的兩扇窗口，各自展演完整、分裂、壓抑、掙扎、解脫。情緒是段落，風格是養分，等個被過客收集。兩張面孔，彼此對照被釋放的假象，吸吮殘餘的真實感。原來。存在，是為圓謊。

拿今天擦掉昨天。

past, past, past, past, past, past, past, past, past...

how to forget? just like remove tattoo, painful but easy.

to be duplicated...

這不是攝影，這只是複製再複製的定格。
This is not photography, this is merely sculpting time, not create but mock.
這不是裸體，這只是卸下偽裝的原形。
This is not naked, this is merely to take the camouflage off.
這不是失焦，這只是表現主義的濫用。
This is not out of focus, this is merely a cliche of expressionism.
這不是路人，這只是符號迷失在十字路口。
This is not a passerby, this is merely a symbol losing itself.
這不是巧合，這只是另一個即將出現的句點。
This is not a coincidence, this is merely another punctuation mark, period.

對話 dialogue

每一幢櫥窗，每一個無言的失物招領處...
蒐集，過客掉落的情緒。抵押，不被青睞的自尊。佯裝，狡飾低調的孔雀。她與他，他與他，她與她或他與她...大多數的時間點，是平行錯過。不經意略過？鄙棄通俗？刻意藏匿那似黑洞般無止盡擴張版圖的貪婪？卻不外乎，另一種可能性，莫名地，垂直交錯。這種可能性，最常座落於她與她這組合，儘管，磁場理論同性相斥...在這裡，她張開雙臂擁抱屬於她的天使，她的天使告訴她，虛榮是無罪的...
隔著一片玻璃，之外，不斷遺落，之內，不斷囤積。剪不斷理還亂的對話，錯落在不同時空間秒秒發聲。

Each window is each Lost and Found...
To collect the emotions those passersby left, to mortgage the respects which used to be ignored, to pretend a peacock but not to show off. She and he, he and he, she and she, he and she...in most cases, it's parallel, might be due to carelessness, loathing or try to hide their countless greed. There is still another possibility which always happened to this group: she ans she. It's perpendicular, to meet up each other directly even though same sex repels, magnetism seems not to work here...she welcomes her angel to come, and her angel tell her vanity is not guilty...
Beside window, to abandon inside, to accumulate outside. Dialogue occurs omnipresent.

she died...

很久沒動筆，因，殘缺的魂魄將要宣告不治。然而，某位卻早我一步走了...

以下來自妹妹之筆

這是事發前幾天照的
怎麼就挑上你
是不是你太可愛
車子也就往你身上撞

馬麻好難過
把拔好難過
我更難過

還記得8月16把你偷渡回家
堅持了一個月每天和老爸奮戰一定要養你

終於
你成為我們家的一分子

愛舔人
膽小
貪吃
熱情如火
屎尿多
會說夢話
常常偷親人
跳很高
跑很快

活跳跳的出門
結果躺著回來
中間只隔了半個小時
怎麼叫人不傷心

姐節都還沒看過你
我還想騎機車載你環島

突然
沒了
什麼都沒有

白領巾小黑狗呢
我那漂亮的小女孩呢

珍妮佛

我很想你

攝氏零度

刺骨的風，這是中文說法；咬人的風，這是英文說法。

北極吹送而來，狹著冰島的情緒，重重打溼倫敦的候鳥。落水後的翅膀太重了，飛不起來。因此，滯留，在這表面華麗骨子下流的城市。似乎，是一種簡單不過的答案，在這裡，沒有什麼是不可以的，反正，你沒有身分，你只有一雙飛不動的翅膀...

City Fable

the 119th day, I've been here...

這是個城市，人人都有病，而病人似乎最擅長將病痛轉化為勒索，被打劫的，是氣候，陰沈沈地讓人不想尋短也難。這是個城市，只有我有病，電音肆虐的密室，啤酒氾濫的吧台，卻喃喃自問這裡是哪裡？

一百一十九個日子，能做什麼？能做的就是不斷地練習忘記。

Lost

If it is parallel, if it is monochromatic...it won't turn into a tragedy. Perhaps disorientation is not enough to use as an excuse...every meaning itself is just composed of a sudden meaningless. To collapse, to crash, to crumble down, to break down, to crack up, to go to pieces...my watch told me it was stolen one hour today, and I truly wish December will disappear like this one hour...

A piece of lost film, a piece of lost time...shoot in unknown period.