Confusion ‘A Performer’s Suicide Note’ Overture
Symphony A Performer’s Suicide Note
Paranoia Concerto In A Performer’s Suicide Note
At last. I lose my half and I dance. The bait of melody brings together the things that should disappear. The things that should be in place are out wandering and white stages awaiting for fear turn to red cloth and fly away. Each drop of sweat grew like bugs every time I moved. The missing pillars that were no longer supporting the body only had someone else’s desire filling in the missing spaces.
I’m not the only one living with such blankness, however, I feel like nobody would understand it. Is it too naive to think this way?
I will stumble to go lock the door. Short nights trapped in this space had desires spill out. My faith will compensate for all of this. I am not ordinary and my passion cannot contain submission.
Today, my first life will come to an end. This death does not mean the end but signifies that my value will come after. I beg you not to sympathize with the conversation my movement contains. Some will sympathize and some will regard it as revolting. Some have seen it as disgusting and others exploited me for their relief. Never have I dreamed of becoming a great hero that the war demanded people to be. Only embarrassment and hypocrisy are left in my trials. I will only face the truth from now on.
I wish for my death to be a comfort to countless fogs and whispers. I don’t want to be trapped with alien cannibals here anymore.
I know that the truth is that those watching my dance are gifts from outer space. I am with them every moment. They become the parts of my face to show me things that I can’t see for myself. They become my arms and stretch out to the fullest I want. They become my legs and go wherever I want.
I don’t want to sacrifice anything.
A Poet’s Suicide Note
A poem composed of intertwined thoughts continued to spread without rhyme or rationality. There were so many such things that I couldn't even remember when they came, let alone when they were lost.
There is no greater tragedy than having the same intensity of intellectual and moral sensibilities in one person. For human beings to be entirely sincere, they must be foolish. For a human to be knowledgeable, the person must be immoral. It is unknown what kind of game or irony of alternative creation made humans unable to be the two simultaneously. Unfortunately, however, this duality has arisen for me. I could never be a good human being given both of these virtues. Because of the excessive quality of two other attributes, not one, it has become unfit to live life.
Whenever a potential rival appeared to have substance, I gave up right away without a moment's hesitation. It was one of the few things I didn't hesitate in life. Pride could never accept the notion of competition with someone else, moreover, because it meant a terrible possibility of defeat. For the same reason, I also refused to participate in competitive games. Because if you lose, you'd always sparkle with anger. Do I think that I'm better than others? Not. Instead, it was because of my pure pride, ruthless and uncontrollable pride that could never be contained or be hidden despite my most desperate efforts.
I, a person full of dissatisfaction and revenge as a young man, came to lose all the wickedness that arose from hypersensitivity in my twenties (perhaps the development of abstract reasoning skills has something to do with this). However, the sense of discontent and jealousy prevailed in a somewhat modified form. Still, he would punish himself if he were to miss an idea, forget a phrase he wanted to write, or couldn't recall a particular point of view. He often failed to give these rough outlines some physical form. Jealous of himself and indulged in abstractions, he noticed that this feeling of greed and retaliation shared blood and flesh, in that they were both some form of bad temper.
Thus I've come to an end my own life, a life which was thought to contain significant greatness but was only an aggregate of considerable lack of abilities to be, indeed, marvelous.
A Musician’s Suicide Note
Every night is another experience of strange hallucinations. An attempt to escape the completely silent nightmare may be what people call ‘sleep’ but is in fact a reckless gamble. To choose dreams as an escape route is a result of mere naivety. It is naive to assume that dreams will be different from reality, to assume that the undurable pain will not be replicated in sleep.
I hear the same sound awake, as when I am asleep.
Ordinary is not noticeable. Deformed, erratic and unstable is what makes up the essential and distinctive part of beauty. Like an erratic note that caught by someone who is sick of listening to perfectly beautiful music, a collage of tragedies is architecturally beautiful.
As of today, my short life will come to an end. I couldn’t leave this world until all my creative embers were extinguished. I was determined that I would not surrender to fate. But weren’t sound and music, my life? It was never durable to watch myself perish. Death is my representation of the deep depression within myself. Death is the only way out of this despair. I came to give up on myself.
I am not seeking to become a great hero, to save a beauty trapped in the high castles nor to spread noble values. I just want to find relief in the haven of sound. Some would be afraid, some would feel pity. But I want to leave behind only my delight. It was the musician inside of me that kept me from making this decision. I couldn’t leave this world with the musician still living inside of me. So the musician inside of me was revealed on this canvas.
I am finally departing from shame and humiliation of being deaf, the nightmare it has been for me. Every night I experience strange hallucinations. I see the same sound awake, as when I am asleep.
The “Suicide Note Series”, work where I focused on the emotions of artists, marked the start of my attempt to aggregate the narrative and emotional changes of the artists into a three-dimensional or conversational medium. This series had a number of overlapping work processes, including the writing of a suicide note, making installations,and painting them. “A Poet’s Suicide Note” demonstrated a moving object representing the suicide note, painting whilst moving. The note was by a narcissist poet who considered the world to have turned its back on him and decided that he is unfit to continue living, as a result of the conflicting duplicity, between the two virtues where one was an intellectual self and the other, a moral self. After writing the suicide note, I made a photograph to demonstrate the two virtues that this artist mentions. I painted it in acrylic, then made an object that substantiated both egos. The installation was then connected to the door to allow the installation to move and paint as if writing on a transparent acrylic plate on the floor. Finally, the installation moves and the paints poured onto the object are mixed and overlapped, and a will is written down as the first reader, listener, and visitor enters by opening the door. This performance that reflects the artist’s last words, in the forms of installations, painting, and photography, decorate the artist’s road to the grave. The finished acrylic plate was installed like a gravestone by the grave. In other words, the ‘suicide note painting’ was installed as a monument to his retaliation and greed. It is a unique characteristic of my work in that my methodology includes several stages of working processes in a single piece of work. The reason for Literary description may be because the concepts of space and time do not exist only at some point in time, just like visual art.
Confusion ‘A Performer’s Suicide Note’ Overture, 2022, acrylic paint, tempera, wool, recycling
Symphony A Performer’s Suicide Note, 2022, 36 x 48, acrylic paint, tempera, wool, recycling
Paranoia Concerto In A Performer’s Suicide Note, 2022, 132 x 144, acrylic paint, tempera, women's and children's clothes, recycling
A Poet’s suicide note, 2020, 47(width) x 31.5(length), Acrylic plate, acrylic paint, glue, etc.
A musician's suicide note, 2021, Acrylic paints, tempera, furniture paints, wood, wax lines, wires, recycling