Accumulation
We’re all pushing something.
Treasure and rubbish wink at each other in our concrete-lined mixing bowls, a churn of decay and renewal.
HK, MO
2019—24
Compiled in 2024
Photography (Monochrome)
Contact for use.I saw D on the MTR this morning. He was wearing the same non-Duchenne smile he’s carried since I’ve known the guy. I’m not sure if he saw me or not. Needless to say, we didn’t speak. He was laid off from the job we both used to work at. Off… off. He was a little off but also, in a way, a kindred spirit, a wayward soul. I tend to sense my fellow travellers. We run on a slightly different umwelt to Gen Pop. I’ve often felt wayward. Adrift. Caught within a spiritual malaise. I’ve felt this way for a long time. Long before the world started to fall apart. In my mind, it’s always felt like it’s falling apart. There’s something beautiful in watching something fall apart, though. I’m talking about systems, things, and constructs. The wear of a floor tile. The peeling of wallpaper. The collapse of a financial system. The latter has real-world consequences, no doubt. But it’s the how of the way it falls that interests me.
This set of photos are self-reflexive, in a sense. A self-portrait. A world of styrofoam boxes pushed along on an overloaded trolleys. Maybe this isn’t supposed to go anywhere... Some stories are just like styrofoam boxes, light, hollow, and moved by forces we can’t always see.