“Visible darkness” is a part of my “Blue” trilogy. The title’s inspired by Derek Jarman’s “Blue is darkness made visible”, which also implies the fear of losing sight I had twice before. Blue as glimmers converging into rivers through time, exists largely in this series of photographs mostly taken at night, and still carries the well-known metaphors of melancholy and freedom.
I chose those situations with uncertainties, which are easily connected to fantasy space, The sea may lead directly to the starry sky, and the sky might fall apart instantly. Some small elements from modern art were added to several images according to logics of dream. The way they were put seems untimely, but the moon today also shone on ancient people, while even the moon and stars we see at this moment are not how they look like now neither. Now isn’t simply now. Those lights that were doomed not to arrive, bring some brightness and secret pleasure to current darkness.
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When the time comes for Dan and Phil to move out of their apartment all I can think about is how someone will move in without knowing about all of the memories that were made.
They won’t know about Dan’s tragic chair falling incidents. Or how many times they’ve both face planted into the kitchen door. They won’t realize the amount of houseplant deaths that have happened in that apartment. They won’t know about the creepy One Direction poster that watched you as you used the bathroom. The colorful chairs will be gone. The iconic bedsheets will be on other beds. The sofa bed that is always decorated for the appropriate occasion will be bare. The number of times Dan has contemplated his existence in that hallway will no longer go up.
They won’t know that that very apartment they’ll be standing in was the one so many of us recognized in times of stress or sadness. They won’t know that that apartment was the one where a friendship nearly fell apart, then built itself back up. They won’t know how much that apartment means to all of us who’ve been there through it all or even just recently joined. They don’t know that every aspect of it before Dan and Phil left was all because of hard work and us staying by their sides.
Most importantly, they won’t realize just how many people grew up in that apartment. Dan and Phil grew up in it. And we grew up with them. We did it together.
I think there is an art to falling apart, You come home after a long day of holding pieces of yourself together, losing small bit of yourself on the way home like fallen leaves from trees
There are pieces of you on the path by the lakes, blowing with the wind like stray newspapers twisting, turning There are pieces of you tracked and trailed into the lives of the ones you love, the ones who hurt you the most
And when you come home, you release the knots that kept you from over flowing all day Then there are pieces of you on the walls, the floor, the ceiling And you get into bed, fall asleep and you get back up again You bundle up your mismatch pieces, stuffing them back together until your m are bursting at the seams again
And you stitch your smile back together hoping it won’t come undone too soon And you go out and do it all over again