I am deeply interested in the space between “being” and “not being.”
The layers between “being” and “not being” are immensely thick, and we are likely unable to sense, let alone explain, most of them. Since ancient times, people have continued to encounter what they could not understand.
What does that mean? What did they experience? And what is experience?
Questions like these do not become old in a hundred years, nor in five hundred or a thousand. Perhaps even over the course of a lifetime, one never truly comes to understand them.
“Language” is not a tool of human beings.
Rather, it is the world’s very fabric. It is not that people speak language; rather, a human being appears from within a bundle of linguistic flows.
Perhaps the meaning of the word “language” is far broader than we usually assume.
Footprints left in mud, the chemical responses of bacteria, forest networks, immune reactions, the refraction of light, crystallization, mathematical systems — all of these are, in their own ways, different manifestations of different languages.
Because we are beings brought forth through “language,” we cannot step outside the field of its meaning.
It is interpretation, and at the same time not interpretation.
To seek to draw near to this uncertainty itself is already a profound contradiction.
And so, when I am asked why I make things, all I can say is, “I do not really know, but…” That is the only way I can answer.