(2026)
LImbs
Sun Erased You
(2025)
Skeptical Daydreaming
(2024)
Three Holes
(2023)
Still Center of Life
“Limbs” (2026)
Someone has to wake up earlier than others. Some eras even demand it as a job. Absurd as it may sound, this was a time before alarm clocks, when only the hands that would eventually make them existed. And they were awakened by peas blown through long tubes at their windows. This seemingly minute work was carried out through even more minute means. That is, a tiny dot was enough to awaken an era. At the same time, a monk studied peas and uncovered the laws of inheritance. In the end, he too slept in obscurity. His research crossed borders over the decades and, by coincidence, found its way to a figure from the same empire. Perhaps, once released from hands, a tiny dot moves beyond both intention and causality.
Like a tale where the lastborn, left to chance, was the only one able to sprout. A seed carries the potential to bloom, regardless of the intention behind it. It grows beyond expectation, even reaching the sky. The beanstalk carries a boy to the giant's house, where he finds a goose that lays golden eggs. It brings him wealth and happiness, but only for a while. In the end, he cuts down the very beanstalk that carried him there, so that life can continue. In such stories, what is the lesson? Is it that we should never reach toward the unfamiliar? That we should avoid doing what we cannot foresee? That all desire ends in loss? Perhaps the point lies not in what he should have avoided, but in the fact that he acted at all. If consequences cannot be known, if causality remains beyond our reach, and if even intentions are transformed by time, despite so often betraying those who held them, only the points that are made remain. Only then can dots become a constellation. Only then can a direction be found.
A Soviet spacecraft attempted to germinate plants in orbit, though some of them failed. On the opposite side of the space race, the United States attempted to introduce humanity to an unknown intelligence beyond Earth. The message they sent was not only scientific, but also cultural and representative of humanity. Among its images was a photograph of children of different races embracing a globe. Is it not ironic? In the midst of competition, the image they wished to present was one of humanity holding itself together. This is what remains: not the certainty of a conclusion, but the act of sending something despite the impossibility of knowing where it will arrive. Perhaps the only thing I can do is mumble as quietly as possible within the four sides of a small space roughly two metres across. Beyond that boundary, there is little I can know. The disc-shaped letter sent past the solar limbs carries the same uncertainty. So, I can only continue tapping a smaller dot onto a smaller square. And in our times, this is demanded as a job.