Now and then awake I lie in stillness,

By rhythm of mine heartbeat I doth scribe

Billet-doux of candid, earnest realness,

Engravéd on the ceiling water pipe.

Did address to those who is’t remaineth,

In silent night mine own mind drifts to thee,

This saudade I struggle to containeth:

Ba-dump ba-dump in w’rds t’s setteth free.

Alas apart shall wint’rs tide over,

Thee might not but f’rget about me oft

Yet as I walketh the Cliffs of Dover,

Ba-dump ba-dump my letters to thee waft.

Yet when cometh the shrill ring of thy call,

The words I draft’d before I can’t recall.

22 Nov 2022

I found this photograph that I’d forgotten

about

In a feverish dream.

I could almost picture you there

As you walked through the crowds of the

 busy street, flicking through rows of

 pajama pants

That you buy for your father.

I wonder how that street looks like now-

Are the shops still there?

I only have photographs and my memory

 to cling to

I’m lost. Where am I?

I’m hurt. I’m scared.

Will I recover? I don’t want to..

Don’t worry, I’ll hold on to our memories 

even when you forget.

Life Goes On.

I won’t forget.

Life Goes On.

I must remember.

23/04/2023

Tree.

Tree along the bank.

Tree is leaning dangerously 

toward the murky water.

Tree is barely holding on.

Tree is me, I am the Tree.

I sometimes wonder what it 

would be

If I let my spine break

Where would the murky, milky 

white take me?

When one recalls on past memories, one reminisces, few have no regrets at all.

Untitled: a certain sense of ambiguity; an unplaceable feeling. Yet “untitled” also serves as an umbrella term- the subject is unconstrained; it can be anything.

These days I often find myself clinging desperately to the fast-fading memories of the place I grew up in, the place I had to inevitably leave. Like a figure receding rapidly in the distance: I call out, but not once does the figure turn back. There is struggle, but in life, there are times to stay, times to meet and gather, and times to part and embark. All good things come to an end, but it does not mean the future is not good.

Laying still helps. Still images flicker from another time, another place. Waltz №1, Op.6 “Collapse” plays in the background as I reminisce and retrieve fragments of intangibles. Are they real? Are they simply stills of fabrication woven by my mind, taking elements from things that have been, things that are happening, things from different periods of time and different parts of the world?

I thought it would be cool to have layers to my painting, layers of hidden symbols and white obscuration that needed to be peeled back; stripped bare. It is my unconscious: An inner part of my own self that I sometimes struggle to access; to understand. It is what partially drew me to Dark was the night, cold was the ground in Guglielmo Castelli’s A knife with no blade, missing its handle showing at Rodeo London (at time of writing). The layered approach taken by Castelli in his painting commanded attention- drawing me in to scrutinise the details partially subdued in layers of green glaze, digging for any traces of symbols and visual “easter eggs” to reveal another small detail in the narrative.

When I try to recall daily happenings, fragments of objects and sightings that I would include in my compositions, It scares me, my mind draws blanks. Suddenly, I recoil in fear when I forget how the road from the station to home looks- what colour were the bricks that I trudged upon, every day, in my past teenage years? I recall glimpses of the Hong Kong orchid trees stretching above like an alcove, letting rays of sunlight through: only quick flashes, never in detail. Floating objects, sometimes grounded; sometimes not, in seas of white and beige, my mind never having focused enough to capture and retain a full picture.

I realise it is loss, and regret that I feel.

the last time we saw each other

did you know it would be the last?

your “see you again” seemed genuine

did you believe it when you said it?

tainted by the voice of cold hard truth hidden in my heart,

i replied, “i’ll visit soon”

my tears mix with the salt water with the sand and the rocks

i’m sorry.

18/1/2023