黑料不打烊

鈥淩olling hills, cows, trees, flatlands, billboards, telephone wires, big-rigs, native forests, gazing out the window, daydreaming, comparing landscapes, anticipating future travels, wondering where we will live in the next five years, New York packed space, no sense of the land, of the magnitude of the land, the smallness of the people, we compare ourselves to the size of the hi-rises and not to the hills or ocean, as we escape from the city, we see our place in the world, the human is small, an insignificant creature, as we escape the stratosphere, we realize that we are even smaller, each of us a microscopic dot in the universe, unable to escape the city physically, we travel in our minds to places we鈥檝e been before, memories of the mountains of childhood, of the landscape of young-adulthood, of recent trips to cities and places we have never been before, anticipation of places to visit in the coming years, of a home, a yard, a place to rest after a day at work, in New York we are packed on top of each other, those of us who lack extra resources carve out space in our basements, our kitchens, our friends鈥� studios, to paint, and why do we paint? to bring what is on the inside to the outside, to play with paint, combine objects, to create a tangible memorial to a memory, to give us rest from what is going on inside of our heads and hearts, the paintings take us to our memories, and takes the viewer along too, although the viewer projects his or her own memories onto the painting, the physicality of the paint reminds us that this is an object constructed by another person and not an attempt to copy the image of the memory, a painting is not a photograph, nor should it be, a painting is a force made physical, the use of materials to construct the immaterial.鈥�

Vilaykorn Sayaphet