"No Name" Drawing

I am an incomplete human being. Life trembles, the world is unstable, and existence is always precarious. My painting begins there — inside that precariousness.
"So let there be light, 그러니 거기에 빛이 비추게 하시기를" — a line from Lana Del Rey's God Knows I Tried — was a private memory buried in the trivial and the forgotten before it became the proposition for a series of paintings of light and flowers. To summon something from within memory: I recognized this as the way I paint now.
The series tentatively titled Memories departs from the intensely personal and the minor catastrophe. The wounds of life, love and exaltation, loss, emptiness, and release. I throw these memories onto the surface. In painting, projection (投射) means throwing without reason — through the act of throwing and being thrown, memory and event are made into painting, and meaning is found, constructed, afterward. The inner festering must be drawn outward. Personal unhappiness, passing through the point at which it is converted into painting, acquires form and orients itself toward lightness and luminosity.
To paint eros is proof that I am dying, and a symptom and passage of being alive. The image departs from the form of the body, separates into line, and abstracts. Figurative images of eros alongside flowers and plants gradually dissolve on the picture surface, moving toward an abstraction that carries Deleuze's ligne de fuite — a flow that departs from concrete form and moves toward spirit. Flight is not escape. It is a movement that opens away from fixed form and fixed meaning toward new becoming. As form dissolves, the passage through which spirit moves opens wider. Deleuze's line of flight and Nakazawa Shinichi's concept of spirit are not separate terms within my practice but forces that interact and hold tension within a single spectrum. That tension, sustained without resolution — this is the real energy of the work, its animating drive.
We are all wind. We pass through the moment and are gone. Blade Runner — beings running on the edge of a blade. The human condition: cut, wounded, and yet unable to stop. I try to live that condition through painting. Through the repeated actions of scrawling, scattering, layering, and tearing, when the self's grip loosens, the surface acquires a direction of its own becoming. The lines that emerge then are not contour but trace — what remains as form dissolves, the trajectory along which sensation has moved.