Everyone does it. We all leave behind little traces of ourselves wherever we go. It’s not crazy or narcissistic necessarily, just a basic human desire to be remembered. Some carve their initials into the trunks of creaking trees, others tuck a few pages of prose behind a loose brick, but I have a more practical method. I wander the alleyways of my beloved city searching for clotheslines with just the perfect amount of space left in between billowing shirts and creased slacks. I pin an article of my clothing, preferably one that has seen many hours of sweaty, robust living, right in the midst of a family’s cotton and polyester life. When a dutiful child or work-weary parent folds the sundried clothes in a wicker basket at the end of the day, my existence is there among them. I’m slowly integrated into their lives as my shirt becomes an unnoticed component of a wardrobe or my washcloth is hung over a freshly cleaned sink. Nobody knows that they are remembering me, but they are remembering still.
|Liu Dao 六岛
|RGB LED display, acrylic painting, paper collage, teakwood frame
|Made in island6, Shanghai 2015
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