Jujube/methods-session-11 - Revision history

Jujube at 10:43, 13 June 2019

2019-06-13T10:43:38Z

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			The final version can be found at: [[Jujube/text-on-practice-2019]]

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Jujube at 17:32, 12 June 2019

2019-06-12T17:32:31Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 19:32, 12 June 2019
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	~~Hi Steve, when you read this, I would like feedback especially on the order/flow of the essay.~~

	~~Although it is my intent to meander, do you (the reader) wonder "what the heck is she getting at" at any point?~~

	~~I am reluctant to link to any theory in this essay (as shown in the "outtakes".) Does that make my practice obtuse to a first-time reader?~~

	~~Thanks.~~

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Jujube at 14:00, 25 May 2019

2019-05-25T14:00:51Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 16:00, 25 May 2019
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	Hi Steve, when you read this, I would like feedback especially on the order/flow of the essay.		Hi Steve, when you read this, I would like feedback especially on the order/flow of the essay.

	~~How clear is it that there is a change in my reflection about practice between the first and last paragraph?~~ Although it is my intent to meander, do you (the reader) wonder "what the heck is she getting at" at any point?		Although it is my intent to meander, do you (the reader) wonder "what the heck is she getting at" at any point?

	I am reluctant to link to any theory in this essay (as shown in the "outtakes".) Does that make my practice obtuse to a first-time reader?		I am reluctant to link to any theory in this essay (as shown in the "outtakes".) Does that make my practice obtuse to a first-time reader?

Jujube at 12:40, 23 May 2019

2019-05-23T12:40:09Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 14:40, 23 May 2019
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	I grew up under Buddhist influences. My mother is a Buddhist, and I remember being dragged to the temples to pay respect to the Buddha. I would enter the temple, light up the incense, enter one wing and say hi to the Bodhisattvas, then the Buddha, gold and big and with the droopy eyes that they call kindness. My mother still keeps a Buddha room in the house, where she goes everyday to make good wishes.		I grew up under Buddhist influences. My mother is a Buddhist, and I remember being dragged to the temples to pay respect to the Buddha. I would enter the temple, light up the incense, enter one wing and say hi to the Bodhisattvas, then the Buddha, gold and big and with the droopy eyes that they call kindness. My mother still keeps a Buddha room in the house, where she goes everyday to make good wishes.

	When I was in college I had the chance to design a building for one of the religions in the world as my architecture thesis. I chose Buddhism because I could finally question openly whether it was a blind superstition. After all, I prided myself with the aptitude from the Enlightenment.		When I was in college I had the chance to design a building for one of the religions in the world as my architecture thesis. I chose Buddhism because I could finally question, openly, whether it was a blind superstition. After all, I prided myself with the aptitude from the Enlightenment.

	Despite my skepticism, I arrived at this: if the repeated act means anything, it spreads existence -- and the anxiety, contemplation, peace thereby -- across the most mundane tasks. And if you have wished for the health and safety of your family, every morning, for the past 60 years in your life, you have known one thing or two about love.		Despite my skepticism, I arrived at this: if the repeated act means anything, it spreads existence -- and the anxiety, contemplation, peace thereby -- across the most mundane tasks. And if you have wished for the health and safety of your family, every morning, for the past 60 years in your life, you have known one thing or two about love.

Jujube at 12:38, 23 May 2019

2019-05-23T12:38:49Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 14:38, 23 May 2019
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	The first months in Rotterdam I kept walking through the apartment I dwelled in New York.		The first months in Rotterdam I kept walking through the apartment I dwelled in New York.

	There is a walk-in closet on the right. A giant mirror in front of you, a false wall that divides the living room into entry way and open kitchen. Walking past the right side of the couch, you see the kitchen sink, the stove, oven, the cabinets above them. (The sink is white and deep, the faucet tall with a generous curve, almost the same as the one you once saw in a farmhouse on the border of Vermont and New Hampshire where the owner decided to follow the Swedish vernacular.) You open the fridge. There is a bottle of coconut water (pink when you bought it, which the label says is a natural coloration) and a couple of Siggi's yogurt. You open one cabinet and find plates, bowls, mugs with a shade of grey purple which ~~you know~~ some interior color reference book has claimed slate. (That time you traveled on the subway with a rolling duffel and a tote bag hauling these brand new dinnerware sets because someone on Sullivan Street did not like, exactly, the color and sold them for next to nothing.) There is a round table where you eat and write. A bookshelf whose top you filled with play scripts. A map of the Second Valley in Pennsylvania that you bought for the thin topographic lines and the humility it reminded you of.		There is a walk-in closet on the right. A giant mirror in front of you, a false wall that divides the living room into entry way and open kitchen. Walking past the right side of the couch, you see the kitchen sink, the stove, oven, the cabinets above them. (The sink is white and deep, the faucet tall with a generous curve, almost the same as the one you once saw in a farmhouse on the border of Vermont and New Hampshire where the owner decided to follow the Swedish vernacular.) You open the fridge. There is a bottle of coconut water (pink when you bought it, which the label says is a natural coloration) and a couple of Siggi's yogurt. You open one cabinet and find plates, bowls, mugs with a shade of grey purple which some interior color reference book has claimed slate. There is a round table where you eat and write. A bookshelf whose top you filled with play scripts. A map of the Second Valley in Pennsylvania that you bought for the thin topographic lines and the humility it reminded you of.

	I moved from an airbnb to the dusty sublet to a six-month temporary rental to my current place. The first week I moved in I measured the walls and drew the room.		I moved from an airbnb to the dusty sublet to a six-month temporary rental to my current place. The first week I moved in I measured the walls and drew the room.
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	When I was in college I had the chance to design a building for one of the religions in the world as my architecture thesis. I chose Buddhism because I could finally question openly whether it was a blind superstition. After all, I prided myself with the aptitude from the Enlightenment.		When I was in college I had the chance to design a building for one of the religions in the world as my architecture thesis. I chose Buddhism because I could finally question openly whether it was a blind superstition. After all, I prided myself with the aptitude from the Enlightenment.

	Despite my ~~initial~~ skepticism, I arrived at this: if the repeated act means anything, it spreads existence -- and the anxiety, contemplation, peace thereby -- across the most mundane tasks. And if you have wished for the health and safety of your family, every morning, for the past 60 years in your life, you have known one thing or two about love.		Despite my skepticism, I arrived at this: if the repeated act means anything, it spreads existence -- and the anxiety, contemplation, peace thereby -- across the most mundane tasks. And if you have wished for the health and safety of your family, every morning, for the past 60 years in your life, you have known one thing or two about love.
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Jujube at 12:34, 23 May 2019

2019-05-23T12:34:12Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 14:34, 23 May 2019
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	Hi Steve, when you read this, I would like feedback especially ~~about~~ the order/flow of the essay.		Hi Steve, when you read this, I would like feedback especially on the order/flow of the essay.

	How clear is it that there is a change in my reflection about practice between the first and last paragraph? Although it is my intent to meander, do you (the reader) wonder "what the heck is she getting at" at any point?		How clear is it that there is a change in my reflection about practice between the first and last paragraph? Although it is my intent to meander, do you (the reader) wonder "what the heck is she getting at" at any point?

Jujube at 11:54, 23 May 2019

2019-05-23T11:54:05Z

Jujube at 11:27, 23 May 2019

2019-05-23T11:27:47Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 13:27, 23 May 2019
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	I have called myself an artist for the past two years. For a good part of it I talked about practice in its trendy, contemporary context: text-based practice, practice-based research, my practice in the intersection of geography, architecture and psychology, of ontology and epistemology, of space and time. I used words because I had them, not because I understood them.		I have called myself an artist for the past two years. For a good part of it I talked about practice in its trendy, contemporary context: text-based practice, practice-based research, my practice in the intersection of geography, architecture and psychology, of ontology and epistemology, of space and time. I used words because I had them, not because I understood them.

	I equated practice to the projects I made, or the ideas on which I based my projects. I armed myself with a certain language and was proud that I could create the optics around a narrative. I wrote no fewer than ten proposals in the year of 2017 for artist residencies, appropriating my practice each time to fit the parameters of an open call. I was accepted by a few, waitlisted at a rather prestigious one, and of course, rejected by the others. Throughout the ones I did participate, I was able to create things; some of those even led to the curiosity and seriousness towards image-making I ~~start to~~ hold close to my heart.		I equated practice to the projects I made, or the ideas on which I based my projects. I armed myself with a certain language and was proud that I could create the optics around a narrative. I wrote no fewer than ten proposals in the year of 2017 for artist residencies, appropriating my practice each time to fit the parameters of an open call. I was accepted by a few, waitlisted at a rather prestigious one, and of course, rejected by the others. Throughout the ones I did participate, I was able to create things; some of those even led to the curiosity and seriousness towards image-making I now hold close to heart.

	But most of the things I created were neatly bookended by a start and end date and scoped with a well-phrased, sure-sounding outcome. Site-specificity was a convenient concept: everything the site introduced -- be it the environment, the people, the theme -- became a way to frame a sort of research. I would go on field trips and read literature, then try to write about it and produce something in the forms I knew, namely, text, photography and websites. I felt I had to keep on going to residencies in order to keep making. If I didn't I would lose the momentum, inspiration, or, dare I use the word now, legitimacy as an artist.		But most of the things I created were neatly bookended by a start and end date and scoped with a well-phrased, sure-sounding outcome. Site-specificity was a convenient concept: everything the site introduced -- be it the environment, the people, the theme -- became a way to frame a sort of research. I would go on field trips and read literature about the locality, then try to write about it and produce something in the forms I knew, namely, text, photography and websites. I felt I had to keep on going to residencies in order to keep making. If I didn't I would lose the momentum, inspiration, or, dare I use the word now, legitimacy as an artist.

	Practice became cool and abstract, or cool because it was abstract, or abstract because it was cool. It did not matter much: and that was why it was dangerous.		Practice became cool and abstract, or cool because it was abstract, or abstract because it was cool. It did not matter much: and that was why it was dangerous.

Jujube at 11:22, 23 May 2019

2019-05-23T11:22:35Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 13:22, 23 May 2019
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	I have called myself an artist for the past two years. For a good part of it I talked about practice in its trendy, contemporary context: text-based practice, practice-based research, my practice in the intersection of geography, architecture and psychology, of ontology and epistemology, of space and time. I used words because I had them, not because I understood them.		I have called myself an artist for the past two years. For a good part of it I talked about practice in its trendy, contemporary context: text-based practice, practice-based research, my practice in the intersection of geography, architecture and psychology, of ontology and epistemology, of space and time. I used words because I had them, not because I understood them.

	I equated practice to the projects I made, or the ideas on which I based my projects. I armed myself with a certain language and was proud that I could create the optics around a narrative. I wrote no fewer than ten proposals in the year of 2017 for ~~artistic~~ residencies, appropriating my practice each time to fit the parameters of an open call. I was accepted by a few, waitlisted at a rather prestigious one, and of course, rejected by the others. Throughout the ones I did participate, I was able to create things; some of those even led to the curiosity and seriousness towards image-making I start to hold close to my heart.		I equated practice to the projects I made, or the ideas on which I based my projects. I armed myself with a certain language and was proud that I could create the optics around a narrative. I wrote no fewer than ten proposals in the year of 2017 for artist residencies, appropriating my practice each time to fit the parameters of an open call. I was accepted by a few, waitlisted at a rather prestigious one, and of course, rejected by the others. Throughout the ones I did participate, I was able to create things; some of those even led to the curiosity and seriousness towards image-making I start to hold close to my heart.

	But most of the things I created were neatly bookended by a start and end date and scoped with a well-phrased, sure-sounding outcome. Site-specificity was a convenient concept: everything the site introduced -- be it the environment, the people, the theme -- became a way to frame a sort of research. I would go on field trips and read literature, then try to write about it and produce something in the forms I knew, namely, text, photography and websites. I felt I had to keep on going to residencies in order to keep making. If I didn't I would lose the momentum, inspiration, or, dare I use the word now, legitimacy as an artist.		But most of the things I created were neatly bookended by a start and end date and scoped with a well-phrased, sure-sounding outcome. Site-specificity was a convenient concept: everything the site introduced -- be it the environment, the people, the theme -- became a way to frame a sort of research. I would go on field trips and read literature, then try to write about it and produce something in the forms I knew, namely, text, photography and websites. I felt I had to keep on going to residencies in order to keep making. If I didn't I would lose the momentum, inspiration, or, dare I use the word now, legitimacy as an artist.

Jujube at 11:20, 23 May 2019

2019-05-23T11:20:56Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 13:20, 23 May 2019
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	Hi Steve, when you read this, I would like feedback especially about the order/flow of the essay.		Hi Steve, when you read this, I would like feedback especially about the order/flow of the essay.

	How clear is it that there is a change in my reflection about practice between the first and last paragraph?		How clear is it that there is a change in my reflection about practice between the first and last paragraph? Although it is my intent to meander, do you (the reader) wonder "what the heck is she getting at" at any point?

	~~I realize I am not basing my definition of method/practice in the somewhat established form of the artist statement, and~~ I am reluctant to link to any theory in this essay (as shown in the "outtakes".) Does that make my practice obtuse to a first-time reader?		I am reluctant to link to any theory in this essay (as shown in the "outtakes".) Does that make my practice obtuse to a first-time reader?

	Thanks.		Thanks.

← Older revision		Revision as of 13:54, 23 May 2019
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	<span style="background:#fff;">I applied to a few programs in NL and was accepted by two. Now I am trying to decide which program to spend my next two years or three. My rationale for the first one is that I can treat it more like a long-term residency while becoming better as an artist-curator (more versed in theories and seeing and using connections). For the latter, I applied because I enjoy working with the lens — I got a nice camera last year and have been feeling so much potential with it. And I always refer to our conversation on craft: the lenses can become part of my tools and I can be more versatile in ways of manifesting my work. How has your trajectory been — I guess, how does theory and research inform your work and how have “forms” and “media” do so?</span>		<span style="background:#fff;">I applied to a few programs in NL and was accepted by two. Now I am trying to decide which program to spend my next two years or three. My rationale for the first one is that I can treat it more like a long-term residency while becoming better as an artist-curator (more versed in theories and seeing and using connections). For the latter, I applied because I enjoy working with the lens — I got a nice camera last year and have been feeling so much potential with it. And I always refer to our conversation on craft: the lenses can become part of my tools and I can be more versatile in ways of manifesting my work. How has your trajectory been — I guess, how does theory and research inform your work and how have “forms” and “media” do so?</span>

	<span style="background:#~~65723C; color:#fff~~;">For me, theory and research on its own becomes overly academic and stagnant. It feels like ideas that are talked about, but never graduate into anything impactful. Keep in mind, I come from a mindset that tries to use art as a communication method for a broad audience - so art that stays purely in the realm of academia and research frustrates me. Likewise, crafts and skills on their own don't carry enough intent. I love process-driven work, I think it's really informative and a great basis for practice, but the real magic for me happens when the two combine. Somehow, when you layer theory and research with the process of craft skills - this third invisible element happens - the space created between the two elements that gives extra underlying meaning, purpose and intent for the work. It's hard to articulate, but I suppose when I look at an idea or creating a work, if I had to come up with a formula it would be something like this. Tool kit of skills + Concept = An art work that clearly communicates an idea through the use of a refined skill set.</span>		<span style="background:#F4E47C;">For me, theory and research on its own becomes overly academic and stagnant. It feels like ideas that are talked about, but never graduate into anything impactful. Keep in mind, I come from a mindset that tries to use art as a communication method for a broad audience - so art that stays purely in the realm of academia and research frustrates me. Likewise, crafts and skills on their own don't carry enough intent. I love process-driven work, I think it's really informative and a great basis for practice, but the real magic for me happens when the two combine. Somehow, when you layer theory and research with the process of craft skills - this third invisible element happens - the space created between the two elements that gives extra underlying meaning, purpose and intent for the work. It's hard to articulate, but I suppose when I look at an idea or creating a work, if I had to come up with a formula it would be something like this. Tool kit of skills + Concept = An art work that clearly communicates an idea through the use of a refined skill set.</span>
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	I was in a playwriting workshop when I lived in New York. I wrote a short play (or a different draft of it) every week. On every Tuesday at the acting studio in Greenwich Village, where the afternoon sun poured through the wall of windows for the last golden hurrah before it set into the Hudson River, where the eighteen-year-old acting student from Czech Republic sat next to the Brooklyn Jewish poet ~~next~~ to the Swiss princess ~~next~~ to Elizabeth my love -- for that good year and a half, I brought a script into the room, ~~casted~~ my characters among the other workshop participants, and heard it read.		I was in a playwriting workshop when I lived in New York. I wrote a short play (or a different draft of it) every week. On every Tuesday at the acting studio in Greenwich Village, where the afternoon sun poured through the wall of windows for the last golden hurrah before it set into the Hudson River, where the eighteen-year-old acting student from Czech Republic sat next to the balding Brooklyn Jewish poet to the Swiss princess to Elizabeth my love -- for that good year and a half, I brought a script into the room, cast my characters among the other workshop participants, and heard it read.

	I still call myself a playwright.		I still call myself a playwright.
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	It ended up taking me a few months to make a 14-minute documentary filled with interviews and mal-focused shots of faces at the wrong shutter speed.		It ended up taking me a few months to make a 14-minute documentary filled with interviews and mal-focused shots of faces at the wrong shutter speed.

	For the second film, I wrote a script and went to a residency. I created an initial storyboard before departing Rotterdam, in which I set the main scenes near a lake to adapt a true story I heard a long time ago. When I arrived at the residency site, I was struck by the ~~aridness of the~~ land.		For the second film, I wrote a script and went to a residency. I created an initial storyboard before departing Rotterdam, in which I set the main scenes near a lake to adapt a true story I heard a long time ago. When I arrived at the residency site, I was struck by the arid land.

	Because I had only a week, I had to re-evaluate my script as I filmmed. I ~~followed~~ a routine. Each morning I'd leave the residency building, walk down into the barranco (a type of ravine formed by erosion both by rainfall and agro-pastoral modification common in this region) and observe the weather, geology, flora and fauna with my video equipments: a DSLR camera, two lenses, a field recorder, a pair of headphones and a tripod~~. The barranco inspired new development of the script and became the central image of the video~~. At the end of the day I would do a quick edit and create a new storyboard of scenes that needed to be done. As I iterated through the images, I ~~was getting~~ closer to the image repertoire I wanted to build.		Because I had only a week, I had to re-evaluate my script as I filmmed. I developed a routine right away. Each morning I'd leave the residency building, walk down into the barranco -- a type of ravine formed by erosion both by rainfall and agro-pastoral modification common in this region -- and observe the weather, geology, flora and fauna with my video equipments: a DSLR camera, two lenses, a field recorder, a pair of headphones and a tripod. At the end of the day, I would do a quick edit in front of the fireplace and create a new storyboard of the scenes that needed to be done the next day. The barranco inspired new vocabularies in the script and became the central image of the video. As I iterated through the images, I got closer to the image repertoire I wanted to build.

	The method was noted in one of the tutorials:		The method was noted in one of the tutorials:
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	Fast forward to now — which means the first and second films, a photobook, a zine and a public speech later — I started shooting more documentaries. With each person in my recent documentaries, I try to create a situation in which the person will arrive at feeling(s): of warmth, clarity, resilience. On camera I try to capture the emotional journey that they go through -- sadness, nostalgia, loss -- as they write, draw, walk, perform, i.e. as they conduct a certain activity.		Fast forward to now — which means the first and second films, a photobook, a zine and a public speech later — I started shooting more documentaries. With each person in my recent documentaries, I try to create a situation in which the person will arrive at feeling(s): of warmth, clarity, resilience. On camera I try to capture the emotional journey that they go through -- sadness, nostalgia, loss -- as they write, draw, walk, perform, i.e. as they conduct a certain activity.

	I have repeated a directing method for making these documentaries: I schedule an individual meeting with each of my subject, listen to what they want to share with me, and decide with them what is a situation in which they feel safe to be vulnerable. I met my subjects (with the exceptions of two, whom I already knew) ~~after~~ a performance at Garage Gallery in Rotterdam. My act was the reading of a wikipedia list of neighborhood names of Brooklyn, during which I teared up. I ~~then~~ led the audience on a meditation about the space called home.		I have repeated a directing method for making these documentaries: I schedule an individual meeting with each of my subject, listen to what they want to share with me, and decide with them what is a situation in which they feel safe to be vulnerable. I met my subjects (with the exceptions of two, whom I already knew) through a performance I did at Garage Gallery in Rotterdam. My act was the reading of a wikipedia list of neighborhood names of Brooklyn, during which I teared up. With a softened voice and state of mind, I led the audience on a meditation about the space called home.

	The meetings have been a crucial part of the process. ~~While setting them up,~~ I try to communicate efficiently (where~~, when~~, what expectations). When I meet ~~my subjects~~ in person, I remain as open, honest and attentive as possible. Some of the situations I have created so far are:		The meetings have been a crucial part of the process. I try to communicate efficiently (when, where, what expectations) while setting up the meetings. When I finally meet them in person, I remain as open, honest and attentive as possible and listen.

			Some of the situations I have created so far are:

	* take Lara to Maastunnel for the installation of Tunnel of Love during Valentine's week		* take Lara to Maastunnel for the installation of Tunnel of Love during Valentine's week
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	* follow the journey of Renate from Rotterdam to the Hague, film her write a letter at James Turrell's Celestial Vault		* follow the journey of Renate from Rotterdam to the Hague, film her write a letter at James Turrell's Celestial Vault

	I filmed the situation with Lara by myself, but found it extremely difficult to conduct the filming, recording and directing all at the same time. ~~(Many have warned me against the jane-of-all-trades idealism in filmmaking.)~~ For the two shootings that followed I recruited Cem and Ugo, peers from the Master's program, respectively as the cinematographers. In this way I was able to focus on the sound and direction.		I filmed the situation with Lara by myself, but found it extremely difficult to conduct the filming, recording and directing all at the same time. For the two shootings that followed I recruited Cem and Ugo, peers from the Master's program, respectively as the cinematographers. In this way I was able to focus on the sound and direction.

	"You talk a lot about what you film and why you film it, but how do you film them?" Someone asked one day, and I could not respond. It felt I was asked to elaborate on the choice of obstreperous in the paragraph of the short story I would be writing when I had just learned the alphabets enough to spell o-b-v-i-o-u-s.		"You talk a lot about what you film and why you film it, but how do you film them?" Someone asked one day, and I could not respond. It felt I was asked to elaborate on the choice of obstreperous in the paragraph of the short story I would be writing when I had just learned the alphabets enough to spell o-b-v-i-o-u-s.
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	The place I sublet in Rotterdam when I first moved here was covered in dust trapped in grime ~~on glass cabinet doors~~. I spent a couple of days scrubbing the shower and wiping off the unknown particles coating the spice jars. One morning I drew an isometric plan of the kitchen. I drew it so that it would be better, so that every time I picked up the broken handle of a pot there would be something to hope for, even though when the end of my sublet came there was neither improvement nor fulfilment. When I moved from one house to another in Washington DC, staring at the empty room I drew a floor plan. By the window I shall have a desk no wider than 48 centimeters, and by the wall a shelf permitted by the ceiling height. I was quite obsessed with cushions and light bulbs. I wanted to fill the empty walls hard corners with not cold-tiled echoes but what softness that'd catch me. I wanted to know it, call it mine, and take care of it.		The place I sublet in Rotterdam when I first moved here was covered in dust trapped in grime. I spent a couple of days scrubbing the shower and wiping off the unknown particles coating the spice jars. One morning I drew an isometric plan of the kitchen. I drew it so that it would be better, so that every time I picked up the broken handle of a pot there would be something to hope for, even though when the end of my sublet came there was neither improvement nor fulfilment. When I moved from one house to another in Washington DC, staring at the empty room I drew a floor plan. By the window I shall have a desk no wider than 48 centimeters, and by the wall a shelf permitted by the ceiling height. I was quite obsessed with cushions and light bulbs. I wanted to fill the empty walls hard corners with not cold-tiled echoes but what softness that'd catch me. I wanted to know it, call it mine, and take care of it.

	The first months in Rotterdam I kept walking through the apartment I dwelled in New York.		The first months in Rotterdam I kept walking through the apartment I dwelled in New York.
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	When I was in college I had the chance to design a building for one of the religions in the world as my architecture thesis. I chose Buddhism because I could finally question openly whether it was a blind superstition. After all, I prided myself with the aptitude from the Enlightenment.		When I was in college I had the chance to design a building for one of the religions in the world as my architecture thesis. I chose Buddhism because I could finally question openly whether it was a blind superstition. After all, I prided myself with the aptitude from the Enlightenment.

	~~With all the~~ skepticism, I arrived at this: if the repeated act means anything, it spreads existence -- and the anxiety, contemplation, peace thereby -- across the most mundane tasks. And if you have wished for the health and safety of your family, every morning, for the past 60 years in your life, you have known one thing or two about love.		Despite my initial skepticism, I arrived at this: if the repeated act means anything, it spreads existence -- and the anxiety, contemplation, peace thereby -- across the most mundane tasks. And if you have wished for the health and safety of your family, every morning, for the past 60 years in your life, you have known one thing or two about love.
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	I have been writing this imaginary correspondence with Su, a Korean artist I met at a residency and have not contacted since the residency ended. I started writing to her from the beginning of my time at Piet Zwart, in September 2018. After writing these letters for more than half a year, they have become documents of the more personal feelings that I have no one to share with in Rotterdam. I included two of these letters for a recent assessment as a way of showing the (sometimes ~~unknown)~~ drive of my process. ~~I don't know if~~ I will bring them to light one day.		I have been writing this imaginary correspondence with Su, a Korean artist I met at a residency and have not contacted since the residency ended. I started writing to her from the beginning of my time at Piet Zwart, in September 2018. After writing these letters for more than half a year, they have become documents of the more personal feelings that I have no one to share with in Rotterdam. I included two of these letters for a recent assessment as a way of showing the sometimes unconscious drive of my process. (Perhaps I will bring them to light one day.)
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