When do we pronounce the death of an image?

Constructed by three identical prints, two being painted with white wall paint and one been installed backwards, they dance in-between the ambiguity established by the factual and the conceptual, in-between recognition and instinct, in-between photos and paintings.

What is it to live in non conclusion? When the impulse of knowing finally broke the silent contrast of an art space, when the prestigiousness of art no longer obstructs, when the half-peeled tape sends an invitation?

Yes! The promised truth is inches away, lifting the paper guarantees you the secret, the core, the truth. The unknowing crowns the satisfaction of knowing, building up the prize. Seeing the picture grants the context, cracks the code of the mapping of interpretation.

You lifted up the print, just to be more confused about the presence of a cemetery from a land of unfamiliarity. The joy of knowing now feels like a placebo, the satisfaction sparked away, disappointment and confusion pored into. Yes, the nihilistic feeling, we share as one.