為下一件作品的焦慮而失眠，抑或者思考人生到失眠，醞釀作品的我們如同澆養著一朵含苞不綻卻也久久未亡的花。
折騰人的是時間，令人錯亂的是那些滿對自己的疑問。
藝術應該是甚麼樣？而我又該是甚麼樣？這些疑惑又能找到滿意的答案嗎？渺小的我們對著這世界質問。
The anxiety over the next piece keeps us awake at night, or, pondering life until insomnia takes hold, we, the creators, are like nurturing a bud that refuses to bloom yet refuses to wither away.
It's the relentless march of time that torments us, and it's those questions about ourselves that drive us mad.
What should art be? And what should I be? Can these doubts ever find satisfactory answers? We, insignificant beings, question the world relentlessly.