HD, color, sound, 13'40''

This eternal grandeur and tranquility seems to be achievable only in my absence... A petite black-haired girl can never belong here..." — No, say the truth! 

Let's try again: the statement I don't belong here is just a cover-up for my narrative doesn't belong here, or more fundamentally, no matter how hard I tried, my language doesn't belong here. So I invited an artist friend who embodies my admiration, envy, and desire. Once worked as a SWer, she was always seen by clients as a symbol of innocence. 

In our brutal honesty, through our gazes and mutual instructions, we closely experience each other's anxiety and fear of loss. Allowing her to portray me and feel my pain—is it "literary translation as a political act" or just a one-sided, frivolous pleasure to tragedies?

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