(A letter in an unknown rose voice)
Art is like a big explosion which breaks the linearity of time. When it comes, we try to take a bot to get away from the centre of the storm.
I remember the first question that I asked myself: it’s when I was in my father’s car, we were driving through a very city. I was looking at the sky and I said: why am I in my body?
Why? This question stayed there without any response for several years, due to the social, political and educational environment of Taiwan, which is strong on standardising children. Pity. Until right now, I still think about it. I separated myself from the explanation of science, religion and others. (I try to find the sentence that is closer to what I want to say. Sometimes, the words show illusion too much.) Well, maybe it’s the real face of our human condition. Alone but colourful. It gives us the desire to find another part of ourselves for replying to this incompletion and have eyes only for meeting people.
I am writing to you. It’s a magic moment to recall all the frozen forms which are similar to the neon powders since the birth of Word. A bomb.
Human beings are weak, surrounded by histories of wars and death. I believe that there are main reasons why I want to enter in the heart of art. Since I went to the funeral of my grand-mother, I looked at the fire that devours the body easily. Nothing. A tranquility after the tears. I noticed that we live with some souvenirs of death, the faces that we won’t touch anymore, and the rest is still there. However, the dream of the night leaves us a path for knocking at the mourning doors, where we feel primitive and pure. Death is like a mirror, which is another world beyond appearance. Silent and elegant.
In short, I feel small and I wish it won’t change. I believe that we were the stars before we came here.
Chen-Kang Wang was born in Taipei, Taiwan. He currently lives in Aix-en-Provence, France. Performance, video and writing are his main tools for creating his work, which is an attempt to express how memories, dreams and poetry bring the individual to another mental time-space within physical, linear time.