. when i went down to mars, tasted some sugar, jumped around multiple lilypads, and fell asleep on your shoulders

I didn’t mean any of these. I was meant to rest after getting my thigh tattoo done, old school spikey chains wrapping around my left thigh close to my crouch, and perhaps hang out with my anxious kitty locked up in my room since her daddy was away.

The cat daddy was pushing me a little, though. They were like, ‘I don’t get what you two are doing. You guys have been messaging each other, obviously flirting. Why can’t either of you just say it?

– Date on Friday night?
– Yes.
– Yeah, great.

How easy?’

I mean, I know. Albeit, I’m pretty sure kids these days, I mean ‘us’ these days, get too afraid of proposing something. No one wants to be the one who initiates things, suggests plans, or the one who CARES. Somehow caring is boring. Caring is not cool. Not putting any effort or not caring at all is cool. What the hell happened to all of us? You can’t say the date. You can’t settle the time. You can’t push it through. Lay back and wait. Be cool and chill and whatever state you’d like to elaborate.

But who am I kidding? I am impatient. I always get to become the clingy one. I have to say it. I have to say things out loud. So I said it. I said it before the tattoo session started and threw my phone away in the big orange bag I carried.

“did you wanna hang out tomorrow or this evening?”

That is how it happened.

In three to four hours, I couldn’t help but become excruciatingly curious. I had a peek on my lock screen, and there were messages from my date. They said they’re kind of busy. ‘Of course, right?‘ Of the fucking course, all my crushes are busy right on time, and I never get to get what I want. Isn’t that bloody classic?

The chains finally wrapped around my thighs. Shading almost killed me, but the ADHD medication my tattooist/old friend gave me helped a bit. On the way to grab some water, I looked myself in the mirror. I was checking my tattoo. It didn’t turn out as I wanted, to be honest, a lot bolder and thicker and old-schoolish. And what the fuck is my problem? I hired this old-school specialised tattoo friend. I was aware. I already knew his style wasn’t my exact type. I did it anyway. Why do I have to complain or low-key upset about the result? I was aware of it fully.

I checked my phone after telling my friend I loved the tattoo.

‘Maybe I’ll drive around and film. Maybe I will go towards Williamstown and you can tag along with your camera if you’d like.’

Boy, Williamstown was my favourite town IN THE WORLD. I ain’t no kidding. Williamstown beach is the place where I would like to end my life (sorry, I am such a drama queen, either). I’ve always thought that would be the perfect ending. Jumping into cold water from the black rocks full of holes.

On the way, we saw the beginning of the sunset and visited the sugar factory.
here it begins.

.

and then the beginning of sunset got deeper.

Them and I were passing through the tip of its waist and smiled at each other. We thought the security was gonna catch us. They said, ‘You might get caught, but what’s gonna happen? They will deport you, and you can go back without paying.’ I said, ‘I don’t think so. They will lock me up behind the bars. I should be in a jail cell waiting for my flight day to come.’ We ran away. We drove away. We decided to drive into the water. Along the Westgate bridge, under that spine-shaped highway, we drank Club Mate, talked about Berlin, and let the breeze brush through our hair. When we got to the most favourable place in the world for me, the sunset was in its full form and depth; as though it was smiling at me. a big fat green. kisses on my cheeks. seductive and hot. If it were wearing a jacket, I would have desired to steal it for eternity.

I said,
” I can’t believe this is happening. It is magnificent. overwhelmingly beautiful. toooo good to be true.”

Skinny dipping. Sitting on the rocks hanging on one’s shoulder. Filming and shooting.

Yeah, I know.
I know caring is boring.
No one cares anymore.

Yeah, I’m fully aware of that.

FYI, it wasn’t my camera that I was using.
and they are repetitions..

.

I’d never been in the water at that beach. not once till then.

It was a week earlier than myself leaving the town once again. I wasn’t sure when I would go back.
I will, though.
I guess they won’t be there then.

We drove back with the heater on, blasting it. Them and I were wet. I was wet. I had to take off my undies on the street. Right before pulling my pants down, saying, ‘I don’t care,’ one middle-aged man jogging in his neighbourhood just walked past right behind me, and I flipped out. They asked if I wanted them to wrap around the only beach towel for me to change, and I gently let it down. I threw it under my feet.

We drove away. We drove up to the hill. We watched the lights. The orchestra of lights. We were looking at endearing lights across the gigantic park, made by people unaware of us watching. Was it creepy of me and them? Maybe yes.

I remember hanging by the window. A sudden gust of breeze, once again, brushed my hair down and rolled over the towel wrapped around my wet body. Newly wired chains around my left thigh, soaked in seawater, then the bath water, were gently swollen. ‘Maybe rusty is good,’ I said.

Maybe rusty is good.

Maybe rusty memory is good. Mood and feelings are often cranky. Maybe a bit of rustiness is good. I can be dull and numb and quiet at peace.

Memoir(s) related to visuals
are rare to me.
Nah, it used to be my thing, but after “breaking up” with the one with ambient sounds and visuals, I didn’t wanna think about purple-tinted images, sunsets, ripples of water, and organic noise(s).

.
I think of my favourite beach in the world.
I think of Williamstown and the breeze.
I think of the gentle sadness I can’t get away from.

I happen to care too much.
I can’t not care.
I can’t.
.

What does it say about me?

In 2023 or 2020s, you can’t care. All of us are hurt deep down. We are cowards. We are little chicks who lost their mother. No one wants any more wounds. We are covered up in fake tattoos of them.
So you can’t care. Caring is boring. Caring can be hurtful. If you do not care, nothing can damage you. If you do not care, nothing can hurt you. because you didn’t care about it in the first place.

I happen to care too much.
I don’t wanna get hurt anymore, but I can’t learn how not to care or unlearn how to care.

but I know you know that people are not not caring.
they do.
not caring is caring.

Not caring is caring.

I send you my best wishes.

With lots of love,
Sor

x

. before we saw the venus tossing our cups and then passing my crown to hotel margarine

hi,

it’s been a while. my brain has been overloaded with heaps as usual..

one of my closest friends recently commented writing without proper capitalisation seemed a bit childish. yeah, maybe it is true. where did i pick it up? oh, i remember it. there was this boy i used to know back in the oldies who i fancied for a while. classic text from that person was like, ‘sup’ or ‘whatsup’ with all lower-case letters.

i don’t even know why i was into this one for so long (especially quite severely). i don’t think about him anymore, but some of his residues are still left behind in me – like this habit of refusing to use capital letters). you didn’t ask, but i gotta say this, ‘of course, i didn’t pick up my interest in photography from this one’. that’s not why i’m bringing this up here. it was something of my own; perhaps the only… hmm… well, at this point, i don’t even know why i brought it up. this was meant to be a post about my holiday, the sums of it, the piles of it, the mountains of it, the whole range, and at the end, the ruins after their cascade has taken me down.

it begins in melbourne again.

_my sweet lil’ babook, 2023

and i tasted some sugar

people ask me sometimes, ‘how did you get that effect? what’s your technique?’
i simply answer, ‘it is a malfunction of my camera and i just use it.’

_a chest of drawers full of plants, 2023

_a cat and a window, 2023

_after you’ve left, 2023

and then, i flew to tokyo.
here’s our little sanctuary for the first couple of nights. i was with kumo and hotel margarine.

_bed in the morning, 2023

_from hina, misasagi, kyoto, 2023

_photographs from arashiyama, kyoto, 2023

_some images back in tokyo, 2023

_tokyo tower from the wardrobe, 2023

sitting on a metal chair on the hostel rooftop back in tokyo, i looked into the middle of nowhere, recollecting all my transient companions in the past, and wondered where they would be by then.

how many were they?

i do not remember anymore.

late summer breeze combing my hair, i thought of certain afternoons accompanied with distinctive warmth(s) at the time. i was there, and they were there. when i went up to the mountains in kunma for labyrinth, i looked up at the sky, letting sprinkles of rainwater hit my face. thousands of stars, perhaps a couple of planets, and the whole galaxy were looking down at me. my neck in a ninety-degree angle, i found the venus. nah, either hotel margarine or kumo shouted it was the venus. i was meant to pick up the wand and wear a crown. what was i meant to rule? i wasn’t sure again. but i saw this thick line of emptiness traversing the vast sky in deep navy. no stars, no planets, no lights through that line. there was the wand, the negative of it, up in the sky, and i yelled,

“that’s the wand i was supposed to find. where’s my crown?”

i was meant to pass it onto hotel margarine after the festival.

i looked into the venus for a while and within the same frame, i could spot kumo, hotel margarine, and lil who walked in a little later. a vast canvas. a gigantic rag of print printed in my head. A two-by-three rectangle captured venus and the ones i was with that i loved. i was dancing under the rain, standing next to kumo, soaked completely, starved, exhausted and ready to collapse. i burst a sudden laughter.

“look at us. look how hideous we are.”

dying kumo looked down at me and put their last strength to make a chuckle. they said,

“i am actually having a great time.”

the night earlier we saw the waves of techno warriors, our company, kumo’s people.
i started talking about the shape of my friendship, half-conscious, half somewhere high up.

“this must be how my friendship looks like. i’m not so sure how it really is (chuckle)
but ideally, this is how it should look like. even if i am so weak, unable to take you out of your own swamp, even if i am lost, helpless, a bit manic, and scattered in my own way,
there’s one thing i can guarantee you. i will be here. i will always be here dancing next to you on the dance floor.”

then, we walked away to find misato’s fire.

_some bits of seoul, 2023

.
life’s like eggshells.
life’s like a spoiled egg, a rotten hard-boiled egg.
hotel margarine stabbed the sticks on it
and some candles.
it was burning.
life’s like a burnt-down crashed egg..
where were we
.

.

it is late october in seoul, twenty-twenty-three. this year’s almost over again. once again. twenty-twenty-four is coming right up, and were we ready? were we ready for it? my new year’s resolution’s been the same for the past seven years, i reckon.

learning how to open a bottle with a lighter.

it’s a good hideout from thinking of/saying the real one. people laugh at my answer and move on. they say, ‘oh, that’s a good one,’ and i don’t have to talk about it anymore. have i learnt how to do it then? nah. of course, not. when.. when will it be?

most of my venus(es) stars, planets, or whatsoever are far-far-away, somewhere i cannot reach. most of the escape plans i made have been torn down one by one this year. what have i got left?

it is painful trying to dream. i draw the imaginary edges of non-tangible subjects with the tip of my fingers. i felt as though i could touch them. feel the warmth. trace the margins of those existences. in a brief while, i crumble down into small pieces. there is nothing. i dislike the stark contrast in between..

maybe there’s nothing after all. maybe i’ve been looking for something that does not exist.

yeah, that must be true.

maybe i need some sun, some conversations, some words from this mouth to the other, that mouth to this one.

subject matters. themes. contemplations on the artwork. a motif. the voice under the imagery.
where are they
wish you could tell me all the answers

my apologies for asking

sincerely,
sor

. intimacy was what the hanged man was looking for, 2023

0intimacy was what the hanged man was looking for0

for you

It all begins with the pursuit of intimacy – I define intimacy as the sense of closeness, specialness, and emotional solace for being with someone(s) resulting in the feel of well-management of composure, belongingness, and being at peace.

(I am aware of the fact that I over-romanticise this concept, but please let me .. ).

Things that I’ve been looking for was simple through city/continent hopping — being with some people who understand me, show respect, truly care (about my existence), and ‘listen’ to what I had to say, talking heaps, laughing loud, going for little adventures, and falling asleep side by side.

No.

You can’t expect solace depending on others. You can’t pursue intimacy through dependency.

and here it begins

I was at clouds.

The first place I tried to look into intimacy.

intimacy ?

I was on Hinge for a bit not expecting anything specific. And this person who designated himself as ‘just an internet guy’ gave me this endearing comment, ‘i hope ur stay is nice and i hope u find what ur looking for.’ Did he say what I was looking for?

“What am I looking for?”

“Do I have any clue in that?”

“Nope,” I told myself.

One morning after a long night, I was lying in bed next to my beloved friend. Their sheets, doona and beddings were in cosy white, clean and washed, crispy and crumbly under my movement. There was a huge window right next to the bed facing a little balcony on first floor and a gigantic plane tree outside of it. Sweet breeze coming in thru the half-slid window, the fractions of light were dancing along the summer blow. The scattered light shimmering in the shapes of the negatives of hand-shaped leaves, ‘they’ were there right next to me breathing in and out; I could feel the warmth of another living being next to me. A lightweight hand laid on my tummy, I breathed in and out pushing it up and down gently. Their most adored album was playing in the background and I tried my best capturing the whole scene as an engraved memory which I could possibly preserve, take out on another sad day, pour into boiling water, and drink up as a tea/antidote.

I realised this was what I desired, craved, longed and sought for; the intimacy, the sense of someone else holding on my existence.

*my root cause — The Lovers card (tarot)

solitude, a feeling of being misunderstood or lacking love. / over-emphasis on possible

romance OR a tendency to romanticise in general ! (esp. things like solitude and suffering).

and I have arrived to new home where I kept on looking for ‘intimacy in my own form.’

It could be a familiar shape of scenery; a ray of light reminding me of specific afternoon in the past; some aligned objects; greens; white noise in the background; a textures of dusty carpet; piles of books by unknown authors; anywhere I could crawl in and stay still as a small existence. I find sentimental objects/subjects/sceneries in my days; home.

ongaku, 2022

.

Have I opened the door?

Have I found it?

Have I found it yet?

in any possible form?

(I think I sort of semi-opened the door to your heart, though .. )

(please, do not hate me if this was wrong…)

.

Have you known that I speak unknown language?

차고지. 척추 모양의 다리. 달. 너의 옆 얼굴. 옆 얼굴 위의 달. 내가 세상에서 제일 좋아하는 장소. 그곳에 도착하던 순간의 노을은 그 정점에서 절정을 보이며 너무도 완벽해서 설탕 공장에 갇힐 뻔한 일은 까맣게 소각되어 버렸으며 나는 그 모든 것의 거짓말 같은 ‘완전함’에 압도되어 한동안 말을 할 수 없었지, 방방 뛰며 노을 속으로 달려 가는 너의 뒷모습을 바라보며. 

What was I trying to say?

Yeah, intimacy.

That’s what I wanted to talk about.

Well, have I found anything..?

I wrote in this goodbye letter to my living companion.

‘the little routines and subtle vibe at the house for my time being kept me going. the sound of you making coffee and breakfast early in the morning before you go to work, the sound of book pages turning, ‘wiz’ parked outside on the way back home, familiar objects scattered in the lounge and kitchen.’

the beauty of its subtlety.

the beauty of it.

Where was I?

Have I found it?

No.

I don’t think so.

plants under the sun, 2022

charlie’s room, 2022

.

I tried to have a deeper look,

deeper look into thing

s

around me

and

being

s

surrounding me.

they were revolving around

i

.

.

I said, ‘intimacy was what the hanged man was looking for.’

I think I found it.

I think I did.

I (actually) found all forms of it, every possible form of intimacy.

I was intimate with —

human(s)

an animal (cat)

time and space

a romantic subject

a sexual subject

and again,

human(s)

or

living beings

.

and they took it away.
I’ve lost them all
in one day

.

I said, ‘the fucking intimacy was what the hanged man, myself, was looking for.’

Yeah, I did.

What happened to them?

I’ve found them all, but where are they now?

Where am I now?

.

Ooh, and they warned me,

‘Hey ya, you’ve missed one. That’s why it’s all falling apart. Have you been ‘intimate’ with

you

r

self

?

‘

‘Ohh..’

.

안돼. 

너는 타인에게 의존하여 안온을 기대할 수 없어. 의존을 딛고 서서 친밀을 소원할 수 없어. 

No. 

You can’t expect solace depending on others. You can’t pursue intimacy through dependency.

it is dead now

and

here are the traces.

the old ones.

.

once it may have been solid

and

now

I feel,

I feel lost again.

I said, ‘intimacy was what the hanged man was looking for.’

where should I head now

?

any

body

?

.

hey

don’t feel pity for me

I’ll talk to you again soon.

all copyright 2023 ⓒ sorim byeon

. fractions of work, february 2022

I’ve been feeling much isolated, which is not a surprise reflecting the past decade.

Travelled continents, I’d been trying to find somewhere to fit in – and then remained as a misfit in either city. During all my alone time, I wished to focus on practising art, since no matter if I hoped to blend in somewhere crowded, I ended up alone anyway, but that hasn’t been working well, either. To be an artist, I believe one needs to be clear about what they want to say. I feel I have no voice. I feel too tired to say anything. What do I want to express through the medium of my artistic choice? I am not sure. Have I ever been clear about that? No, I haven’t. My work reflects a cohesive theme of isolation/loneliness that resides in my routines. But what’s deeper behind the simple notion of it? I am not sure, either.

I am afraid I lack any talent or gift to create something. Even before working on enough pieces to showcase, I worry if no one comes to my exhibition opening. Or what if there’d be no one to have after drinks with? what an unnecessary dread.

Recently I got three of my film rolls developed and looked through the images I took for the past half-year. My subject matter seems vague. This may sound not deep enough for an “artist statement”, but I click the shutter when I see things that remind me of myself; things often look abandoned on the street as lonely objects in solitude.

It is better to work on something than sit around worrying about imaginary bad endings. I won’t think about what if no one fonds of these; here they are.

_{warm oval, 2021}

_{hands, 2021}

I looked at it. And I saw you.

_{images of you, 2021}

I looked at it _{images of you, 2021}. And I saw you.

‘Wi’ called it as a spiritual zone – it is a cliche Ikea Kallax shelves I got when I moved into my current studio flat about three years ago. I built it myself with a little help of a friend with a chunky hammer I got from my grandfather, who had been the family handyman for decades. As to how ‘we’ called it, I put spiritual things I cherish on top of that cliche reasonably-priced white piece of furniture and then realised it became a mood board that reminds me of your debris after our severance.

I see a customised perfume bottle filled with your selection of fragrances. I see the music of the movies we saw together. I see one of your favourite jazz artists in his live performance. And I see one of your favourite books by one of your favourite writers.

I shouldn’t have publicly posted about this. But what’s bad about honesty? And I forgot that I also saw an artist’s note written by my favourite photographer, which was included in their artbook I bought. There were two copies; I gave one to you; then, you hung it on your wall. Is it still there?

It was told,

you wouldn’t be forever gone in my life.

I knew it wasn’t true.

_{fake snow, 2021}

It was like emotion snowing.

Then,

you said perhaps you needed more Rei Kawakubo pieces in your life. Since we both fell in love with her at the same time. Or I told you I wished to be a younger version of her, receiving her traits of working alone, maintaining her iconic style for almost six decades, wearing mostly all in black with the same old sleek haircut. I could be that stubborn old lady.

_{the garment, 2021}

Then,

I remembered us sitting under a deem light in our cold lounge with its tiled floor. We draw and sew. We put clips around the back of my old bomber jacket. I edited one of my eye photos. I think of a jug of warm rooibos chai tea. It smells like it.

Then,

Here I was in the shape of an abandoned object on the street.

_{untitled, 2021}

Then, I said,

bye, my friends.

(come around and say hi, I wanted to say). (be well).

x

_{sor, 2022}

. where i were when i was i

Dear you,

Ahead of everything else, I wanted to comment that I hate talking too much before it starts. As many of you who’ve actually met me in real life are aware, I like talking; I am chatty. Although, believe me in this ‘I do not like to chat a lot before images start.’

Still, I wanted to speak out some words for this time. and as always, I’d like to say I love everyone reading/looking into what I’ve done/said/made/captured. It’s such a lovely feeling ‘strangers’ see what I’d seen and perceived. … okay, I feel I should stop my prologue here.

.

It took a while for me to look back at these images – about eight months or so. Here I was, be seated in my studio flat, feeling either numb or over-dramatic, staring back at them. Fortunately enough, the sun is out, I’ve then decided not to edit, organise, crop, or make any type of rearrangement. Here they come as though waves hit the black rocks on a seashore I used to linger around; as raw as possible with my clumsy fingers, shaky hands, and imperfect eyes.

ps. it’s a photobook-lengthy, so be ready and well-seated (or settled in your bed).

.

_fitzroy north

_lil’s room

_shanti’s room

_camberwell

_in the heart of orchids

_good old brunny

_untitled2

_cbd with my love

_johnston st, collingwood

 

_good nap with archie

_thanks to lovely lil and all her housemates for providing me a warm nest

_on the way to williamstown

_newport station, in transit

_’santa please stop here’

_’goth on the beach’

_looking out from nadia’s room

_favourite ‘twin trees’ in my old neighbourhood on barkly st

_miki at howl’s

_miki and tasé my loves

_xmas in carlton, with steven, freddie, and koko

_one of my goth twins

_’amore’

_nadia’s room

_royal botanic gardens, along with sunki my dear

_the day of ashes

_back to my love

 

.

Here we are.

I deeply appreciate all of you following the nostalgic journey of mine. I really do.

I’ve got not so much to say. Jacaranka is my favourite flowers in the world (, I feel), and it represents wisdom, rebirth, wealth and good luck; then, it simply means ‘love’ to me. ps. I love you. let’s stay healthy and strong. isn’t that all we can do.

from your sor xx

.

all copyright 2020 ⓒ sorim byeon

 

. sad fractions i didn’t pay much attention to

 I left.

 went inside

 then came back

I’ve got nothing to say this time .. special thanks to dear support

.

all copyright 2020 ⓒ sorim byeon

What I saw in Kansai, 2020

.

I have been to Kansai area, one of the southern regions in Japan last January — it was a continuum of my unexpected adventure in the southern hemisphere ahead: a depiction of what I saw within the process; which lacks meaning.

.

all copyright 2020 ⓒ sorim byeon

2019 holiday vol. 1

.

[2019 holiday vol. 1]

.

a visual recollection of Germany: mostly in Hamburg with a slight hint of Berlin. I found peace and love in the heart – a memoir of light.

.

all copyright 2019 ⓒ sorim byeon

Last bits of Australia

.

[Last bits of Australia, 2018-9]

.

residue remembrance of footscray, bell’s beach and williamstown

.

all copyright 2019 ⓒ sorim byeon

The Ghost, 2017-8.

.

.

[The Ghost, 2017-8]

.

A digital collage of a series of intimate images taken by either myself or the other, capturing one another unaware.

.

all copyright 2018 ⓒ sorim byeon