Journey to the Seaside and honest back story of my work

What is the nature of making art? If it is not simply about fashioning forms and colours, then it has to do with the production of meaning…If you begin there you realize that potentially everything is material for art, because at some point it has to have an aspect of concretion and must be framed in relation to people’s lives.Stuart Morgan, and Joseph Kosuth, ‘Art as Idea as Idea: An Interview with Joseph Kosuth’, Frieze, 6 May 1994 <https://frieze.com/article/art-idea-idea> [accessed 22 February 2020]

Yes, I love seaside. From my background, there should always be a reason why that content. but since I had a conversation with my loving friend,

What truly important is seeking what you really want. What feeling you want to present? How do you feel recently? What is your thinking about this bittersweet life? So, I decided to go to seaside again and make a video with it. I want to put that place name as secret because that would be only my place and intimate place of mine, where someday I would like to bring someone to show how I felt that times.

Honestly, I had never used the Canon XA10 before (it was the only one left at the university’s resources store...), so I had no idea what kind of images I would get from it. I was anxious because it was a challenge with the unknown. The place I had originally planned to visit was familiar to me—I had been there before, so I knew what viewpoints I could capture. But this new place was completely unknown, and I had to trust my instincts (well, that’s life, babe). It does not matter whether the image quality is high, whether the colours are the best or not—it is still my image. I had a rough idea of what I wanted to create, but the real work begins when you actually move your hands and start doing something.

Honest Story

I love to create. It is an exhilarating experience to actualise something that once existed only in my imagination. Although I had a plan, it does not mean that I fully understand why I am doing this now. Many questions remain. Why the sea wave? Why that composition? Why am I making this? Why is tactility or touch so important?

After finishing the editing, I tried to find answers in the work itself. Then I realised that I needed to return to personal memory.

I remember that hand. No, I am thinking of that hand right now. In that moment, I did not see it, but I could sense it—how it stroked my heart and my own hand. I did not care about what was happening on the street in front of me, how I was walking, or how the sky looked. I only wanted to feel that hand. And even now, I can still see it as if it were happening before my eyes. I see it from a third-person perspective, as if I am observing myself.

It is astonishing how such a small part of the body can create such an intense sensation. Each of my fingers, my fingertips, the spaces between my fingers, touched another set of fingers, other fingertips, other spaces between them. I do not remember my surroundings—only the fingers and the warmth of the hand in a dark void. It hurt because I knew it had to end. Even in that moment, I was aware that it would soon be over.

But no, I am not sad that it ended. That long yet fleeting moment has already distilled itself within my memory, transforming into a violent wave that continuously crashes against my mind and heart. The face has faded from my vision, the scent of the skin has evaporated from my nose, and the warmth has cooled in my heart. Yet the image of that touch remains everywhere. It has been extracted into my sight, looping in my memory, possessed by me and possessing me in return.

I never expressed how I felt at that time. Verbal communication is always difficult. Simple words cannot contain everything I want to convey. I do not even know if there was truly something between those hands; I never asked about that moment. Perhaps I was afraid to discover that there had only ever been one hand. Perhaps I feared that, the moment I verbalised the memory, it would disappear, as though it had only been a figment of my imagination—something that had never really happened.

So, I made this video. I visualised that hand. A metaphorical wave crashes everywhere, touching your eyes from a distance. It neither ends nor truly moves. In the video, the visual and sonic senses are composed into a single image—yet the tactile is missing. Was that intentional? Or was I simply unable to convey the tactility of it?

It is gone now. Only ‘perhaps’, ‘maybe’, or ‘never’ remain. Yet it continues to loop.