My entrance to that painting is a three-road highway. One file is this place in the woods where a river stream flows unexploited under the pine trees, between the sandbanks. It dips steeply on both side, but in one place it has created a natural sand beach. The water is clean, it comes from higher up the mountains, but it is reddish brown because of minerals in the soil. This place is for real, and always washes away my sense of powerlessness.
Another highway file are those garments, which may not seem important or special at first sight. But they’re souls, or part of souls, that I collect. Sometimes I have to steal them, cause they belong to someone who won’t let me borrow them. Sometimes they’re left in my nearness or in my path, and I just pick them up.
The third file is a memory of a scene in a high school movie, which I was playing back and forth until the VHS cassette was quite noisy at that particular place. It was a scene that depicted a wet t-shirt contest and the location was a messy market, or a party. In the crowd, which was composed of only young noisy men, was a tank of glass reminding one of an aquarium half filled with water. A flip ramp was installed inside the tank where a woman only wearing a white cotton T-shirt was sitting. Attached to the ramp was a rope leading through various shackles out into the excited all male crowd, armed with the power over the situation they could now, when least expected, pull the string and make her drop down into the water.