It was May, 2017, I was in a residency program in Shanghai. I stayed in a village; though for a short period of time, on the alluvial island Chongming. I was arriving as spring was departing. Each day I would, compelled by the laws of nature, begin my day in serenity at sunrise, ride on my bicycle to and from no place in particular and end it as darkness falls. Very often all I could see before me was the nearly boundless horizon stretching to the end of the world, so I allowed my mind to concentrate on the material and real things. I was growing more and more unfamiliar with thoughts and everything that has conceptualized and a priori, such as legends, grammars, and time.

I could not help but feel disoriented. Before me was a village where western style houses sprung up. There were constructions and banners everywhere that demanded Progressive and Internationalization. Top executives there used only present continuous tense and imperatives when they spoke. As their words emanated from a place of hollowness, where could it lead to? The reality was deviating from the ideals. Along the fork road I fetched a few mysteries that needed to be solved. The 3-dimensional modeling of the streets that was installed on the streets. The sunken part in the center of the rye field outside my bedroom window. The short stories in the paper and magazines that were somewhat unethical. These mysteries hindered the ideals that were illustrated in the maps of old times. They also conveyed the gap between the tense of speech and time, and the future that is unrelated to the present tense. Meanwhile, an old-fashioned Crop Circle Act has been enabled. Either I was in jest or acting as a farmer, my body was awkwardly intended to befit the ideals of my imaginary story, and to isolate from the outside world.