This art collection is a gathering of lonesome star pieces, that are foreseen not to be able to carry any galaxy missions. 

Each artist’s practice floats above their territory.

Linked only by a time zone, a stream, and a scorching atmosphere.  

Yet it remains difficult to see any trace of similarity, both in the artists’ internal psyche as well as their visual signals. 

Lift face up and ask: Will they be able to converge into a constellation that creates a light trail of smoke with a sharp scent? 

Painting is a claustrophobic territoire, layered with histories. 

Despite giving up their flesh and bone, the painters remain deeply skeptical at heart. 

Only their eyes and hands are utilized to paint, leaving their perked-up ears redundant, prone to gossips,

while their mouth murmurs – twitches – whimpers. 

No wonder why Mr. Vincent Van Gogh slashed off his ear.

And I suddenly realize: There is a reason why the question above popped into my head 

Similarity across artists – if exists – might not be seen even with our eyes wide stretched. 

It seems likely that they also paint with ears/ which is auditory involvement / with sounds/ with rhythm/melody. 

Further, there is skin contact/ pungent smell of greasy matter and stagnant puddles. 

Add in the sound of mumbles and gladness

And even moans and bursts of tears from these lonesome star pieces. 

Yet another painting exhibition, but this time – here – is a calculated move filled with ulterior motives, sparkles of hope, and palpitating anxieties.   

Trần Lương

June 2022