view13 October 2026
Folder (working title): at Yenah's grandmother's house, the ornamental chairs in the kitchen were a looming gathering of stages under the dining table. One night, Yenah left a folder of work documents on one of the seat cushions. I saw it catch the moon from the floor in low light, frozen like a cubist corpse or a mostly rigid fortune teller fish within the curling wooden networks of the furniture. An open casket of receding planes and information spotlit but obscured. Not lying flat, but between waking and sleeping, rising and falling.
view11 October 2026
“Colon:” by M.T.C. Cronin (can't find the year for this one, will update)
Colon: it wasn’t an order: there are some
whose lives have bookcases and others
for whom the side of the road serves
the same purposes: unenumerated
it doesn’t change this: the tongue
has rained into the hand: the
fingers feed the mouth
view9 October 2026
Interactive coordination play (working title): bop bag stress relief, prehistoric and inflatable. Seen through a window and a cat tree, like a cave. Washing the dishes at Yenah's grandmother's apartment, looking out the window at a slippery facial expression stuck between shock and wonder. Like it is perpetually anticipating something just about to happen. It spent its days legless, waiting for the boy to come home. And when the boy did, he was an option for channeled aggression, destined to take punches in service. I recently had a pretty upsetting experience where a phone scammer convinced me that he had kidnapped my mother and was going to kill her and himself if I didn't send him money. What makes someone stoop to such evil? Where does it start? Where was his interactive coordination play?
view7 October 2026
Slicker than deer guts on a doorknob
view5 October 2026
Spending lots of time alone in Yenah's grandmother's house. Getting up early, morning coffee, and sitting down to work each day at the kitchen table. As the sun rises, the tall white satin curtain spanning the length of the living room window starts to glow; one half of the curtain is reinforced by another pink one, so the diffused light that floods into the living room is half pink and half white. It bounces off of the red-orange wood floor, which creates a warm, saturated, matte-finish environment in which highlights and edges are dulled. Magpies like to visit in the morning, and a handful of times I've seen them jockey for position on a persimmon tree through the window. They're pretty aggressive, hip-checking each other off branches. Only two small horizontally-sliding screened windows in the house open, and tree branches sprouting vibrant green cross in front of the view out of both, so the feeling is one of life in abundance outside. Plants grow well on the windowsills too.
My days here have been spent mostly in silence, but it's a busy silence. Just down the street is an elementary school, and I hear the rhythmic phases of its days—pale yellow buses snorting to a stop to deliver sleepy children in the morning, high-pitched screams as lunch hour arrives mid-day, and the frenzy of happy squeals and teachers repeatedly saying goodbye (“안녕히 가세요”) as school is let out for the day in the later afternoon. Some intermittent bells and layered chimes of groups of children singing throughout the day as well. On days where I do laundry, the laundry machine sounds like alternating white noise waterfalls and MRI-machine-like hollow knocks. Mosquitos are frequent visitors at this time of year, so a few times a day I'll also hear their sharp whines buzz by my ear (I've killed about thirty of them in the last month). The water here is so, so soft, especially compared to London, and the sinks (one in the bathroom and one in the kitchen) rush when turned on with a dutiful urgency that sounds like a mother shushing a baby. Similar to the Segokcheon Stream down the road from the house that runs all the way to the Han River.
view3 October 2026
A couple snippets from Richard D. James in conversation with Tatsuya Takahashi discussing their collaborative development of the Korg Monologue (2017)
RDJ:
The first thoughts that I had about tuning in general happened with my early noodlings on a Yamaha DX100, one of the first synths I saved up for. I remember looking at the master tuning of 440 Hz and thinking I would change it, for no other reason apart from it was set by default to that frequency and that it could be changed.
I just used to select a single note, adjust the master tuning of it to taste and then base the whole track around that, something I’ve done ever since, just intuition and maybe a bit of rebelliousness. It’s very simple, but do you want your music to be based on an international standard or on what you think sounds right to you?
...
RDJ:
What is your worst fear?
TT:
Well, doing the same thing over again and then one day realising that's all you can do.
RDJ:
Yeah, I think we all have to fight against this, especially as you get older. I’ve really been looking at my habits recently and denying them. It feels great if you can manage it.
view1 October 2026
Husk on a riverbank watching the current rush by. A curl of wind lifts it up and over the water. As gravity drags it down towards the surface, it extends its legs out to prepare to swim. But just as it comes within a micromeasurement of the cold, exhilarating start, the water turns to hardened land.
view29 September 2026
Spatial-emotional logic(s)
view27 September 2026
Have been floating around New York City with my luggage in tow as a I figure out what to do next. My bags are heavy and the subway is small. After a recent ride, I was exiting the station and hoisted one of my big duffels high as I went through the turnstile gate. A man rushed over as if to help me, but he kind of just got in the way and then backpedaled as I passed through. Then he yelled: “I helped you out and you're not going to swipe me in?” Americans grow up in a society that teaches them to expect to be thanked or rewarded for helping someone else.
view25 September 2026
Muyeong Kim: Pig at Art Sonje Center: nice show. As the press release details, most of the wall-bound work (archival pigment prints hand-colored with pastels on paper) addresses “four kinds of subjects: renovations of Seodaemun Prison (used by the Japanese during their occupation of Korea), a cricket cage discovered in China, South Jeolla Province’s Sorok Hospital (used in the past to isolate Hansen’s disease patients), and a Japanese woman. The four subjects all represent 'places' where different forms of segregation and violence operated in the course of history.”
I didn't learn the context of the imagery until after seeing the show, and I personally didn't need it. For me, the work activated the theater space it was installed in and around with fresh, complex, self-regenerating energy independent of its sociopolitical underpinnings. The rooms blossomed and became destabilized.
His touch is considered, boldly intervening but light. Even on a large scale; my favorite pieces were Bedridden, a miniature pet cricket cage scaled up to a size that could hold a human (yet it appears to float despite its implied weight), and an untitled piece for which he motorized six of the theater's chairs so that they slowly move from folded to open in a seating-ready position over time (longer than my visit).
Both are out of one's initial view when entering the theater, and both suspend sensorial logics in a way that charges the space with possibility—at one point I found myself backstage staring at what appeared to be a spare theater chair turned around to face a dark corner. And later, in a hall just outside the door, I spent a while in front of a large framed blank off-white sheet of paper. Was a great feeling wondering where I had missed both on the checklist.