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I often dreamed of watching without being seen, of spying, of being the perfect observer. Here, standing off to one side, seeing only the world in fragments, the two symbols keep repeating —— house&butterfly, one enters the other one, It’s only can be defined by the repetition of its own language (words), carries with the memories, by placing the thoughts, shapes, colors in an external scenery, it becomes cooled, heated or immersed.
I remember the view along the road when we travelled that day, the summer heat, the cicadas singing tirelessly, the unknown butterflies flying around, the breathing green mountains, we were struggling with stone steps to climb, the surface of the stones already soaked with the mist of waterfall, we need to be careful of every step. And the house in our minds was slowly fading away, no sooner have they come into existence than they fall to pieces, and their transformations in time.