I have always defined myself as an awake dreamer. I don't care about politics or national events, I just lock myself up and dream. For me, the inability to dream is far more terrible than menopause, as it is the end of spiritual ovulation. In the three narrative works exhibited in this exhibition, not only the same face is used, but the same protagonist, which is loneliness. Like real life has no ending, these stories are nonstop cycles. "The end" is just a formal mean of high art. But my works are not high art. They are just dreams’ paraphrases about whether dream itself has meaning. What you care about is nothing but "what happens next".
Then we let the machine dream for us, or we make dream reality, then Cthulhu has no idea what dream you should have today.