Traces of Contemplation

For me, art is not a statement directed at the world. It is a desperate act of rescue, a practice of unravelling a self that has become hopelessly knotted. The fragments of thought that endlessly swirl within me sometimes arrive with unbearable weight, and I plunge into the water each day to wash that anxiety clean. Traces of Contemplation is the most honest record of what I encountered at the very bottom of that solitude.
Inside the silent tank, I feel the texture of water enveloping my entire body. It is at once the yoke of a reality I must endure and a healing membrane through which everything is gradually cleansed. I carry this ambiguous sensation of water onto paper, twisting and braiding my submerged anguish into structures of line and knot, one by one.
The ropes are not merely formal elements. They are the residue of countless questions and pains that once crowded my mind, tangled and knotted after passing through water as their medium. I do not simply draw lines. I construct the trajectory of suffering on paper. This painstaking labour of tying knots and joining threads is my own fierce ritual: making peace with anxiety, confronting those snarled hours, and arriving, however slowly, at clarity of mind.
In an age increasingly governed by the gaze of others and the pursuit of recognition, I choose to quietly continue this solitary process of washing and refining myself. Traces of Contemplation is the way I, as a human being, endure the world. It is evidence of an inner life cultivated through solitude.