Yours Truly

Interactive Installation
Creative Coding

Realtime video
Interactive key
Thermal printer
"1+1=22," January 28–February 27 2022, Sol Koffler Gallery, Providence RI
"Transitory Void," March 25-27 April 1-3 2022, Cyberarts Gallery, Boston MA

The sentences on screen are from the past writings of the artist, depicting a lost place. The place is the artist’s home village, which is now deconstructed and only exists in the former resident’s memory. The sentences from the writings were rephrased into the present tense and reordered in seasonal order. Without neither temporal specificity nor linear time structure, the sentences in an infinite loop are presented to the viewers for two seconds per sentence, which is not enough time for the viewers to remember what they read. Thus, the viewer’s experience is rather seeing the traces than reading the text. The viewers can print the sentences they’re seeing to cut and own them. However, the printed text will evaporate slowly but eventually, like forgetting a memory.

Now, the de-personalized memories of a placeless place are presented to the viewers in a void of a white cube. Claiming the sentence-d memories as the artist’s private possession is absurd. Because of the forgetting traits of any memory, we truly do not own any of our memories, especially in this era of a heavily digitized world. How do we possess our own nostalgia if we cannot claim ownership of our memories? Is nostalgia an unconscious illusion we create to fool ourselves into that memory is truly our own?

Silenced whispers.


Desert of sunlights.

Ivy and daffodil.

When you hear the sound of ocean waves from willow trees,


A velvet-like time where rain dries.


Squashed clovers.


Soaked air.

Roses look like old wrinkles.


You hear cicadas suddenly cry out.

Time dashes slowly.

It rains.

From the white sky,

By summer minus spring,


Deep green, seemingly ever-lasting, dry at an unnoticeably slow pace.

When you see the color starts to fade,

Trees turn into autumn gold.


Bones of metasequoia.


Trees fruit.

Fruits decay.

Rusted afternoon,

A quince falls as if it is rotten.

Dead flowers fall.

Maybe it snows.


White sky.

Between the cracks of everything soundlessly vanishing without anyone noticing,

Young memories age older. 

Silenced whispers.


Excerpts from Yours Truly (2022)

Photographer: Sae Oh (2022)