What should we embrace, when the boundary between reality and fiction is distorted, when ambiguity is being breathed in for long enough, that its calling for the so-longed suspension of disbelief?

What is summoned upon, when the credibility sublimes from a form of art installation, within a space where surreal and magic happens?

What is to grasp on, when the unmeasurable arrives onto a world full of quantitative gauging, when the logic of number is broken,

when the indescribable, yet strong presented atmosphere bubbles you and what you see around, creating a world that only you would feel beyond?

OLO exists, OLO fictions. What matters, if language does not break the barriers between us, if the map between object, color, love, is not graspable by us mere human beings? Does it make the unique identity of us trivial, or does it celebrate our significance?