With a red tree Painting

Life sometimes effaces terribly cruelly and always silently. You might attempt to enter and tangle with the lives of others, but one’s life can never eternally distance itself from solitude. Solitude and loneliness emerge only in the private space, and disappear without trace in the streets of raining starts. Loneliness is not to be noticed, like the calendars from a random bank or insurance company, casually kept in a corner of the room without meaning, Whereas you may share delightful joy and happiness, you shall not share loneliness. No, you can neither expose nor show it to anyone. The more I attempted to share loneliness and solitude, the more uncomfortable and miserable I became. I dressed up and yet worried what if the flush of my youth disappears and is silenced forever. I shopped and developed a delicate taste to keep up with the latest trends, indulged in a cup of espresso at a standing bar, and tried to remember one to two hip fad words. In spite of the absence of the loved one, after the confessed depression of someone close and her subsequent suicide, and even when the delusions made up with empty words parade the streets, our lives quietly go on. The unmitigated elegance of the fabulous streets often felt too unfamiliar and cruel to me. Sometimes, I was seized by the desire to identify with those streets. Sometimes, I rather wished to be the scenery in background that any one might once look, only to pass by indifferently. When the loneliness penetrates deep into my being, I step out to the streets painted with pleasant and vivid colors. And I think, life any how goes on. --from the artist’s notes, 2012