I weave threads because of the unutterable distance between being me and being myself.
My primary interest was in the relation between thread and words. As the word origin of text(sentence) was Latin texere (weaving), textile was a language system for communicating and recording events before the development of words and sentences.
Our world is full of words, and words enable us to define objects. Objects form outlines of the world by meaning of the words and concepts. It has the language told in the composition of figure and ground, and we acknowledge their existence.
"Recognizing the world with words". Since when I began to have a sense of uneasiness with this natural premise?
Describing objects by words means acknowledgement while eliminating the elements that cannot be described. We have to separate ourselves as a subject to talk and acknowledge, and as an object to be spoken and acknowledged. In other words, we can replace every existence in the world from "be" to "to be owned" by having words. And those that cannot be described are separated, and driven to where we cannot reach as what we cannot own or objectified.
My position is not to aim a flat, equal world, or the overall nature of existence (what is said to be the original states etc.). However, I question our way of how to describe the world with our words, and how to process the existence as objects without question.
We are accustomed to ignore the existence which does not have words to be described. And we could say the same about ourselves.
In my own creation, I am the one who selects color of thread, the one weaves threads, and the one creates textile. The number of selections for color of thread required in one creation ranges thousands times to tens of thousands times. There is no predefined designs or set destinations, but everything is the result of my selection. As a selection of words and how they are used represents the personality, as repetition of choices everyday creates you and me, and as our existence is based on accumulation of our choices, I represent myself in textile as a result of selections for color of threads. There is an enormous list of thousands to tens of thousands of words related to me describing “text = textile” using “my words = threads”. At the very least, this is my representation and manifestation of part of me. However, when I stand face to face with the textile I finish weaving, the person I am supposed to be is hard to express and something I cannot grasp. In other words, there was a distance between being me and being myself.
This distance is what we subtract from the world we live in with words all the time. When we face something we cannot express by words to objectify, we become confused, and cannot acknowledge it. However, this distance we cannot express by words is obviously a part of its existence. No matter how many words there are to express, words and existence are not equivalent. There is
always a distance between being something and something itself.
And even now, I keep chasing the distance which is hard to express and constantly slips away from my acknowledgement, and I keep missing it. I do not know yet how to grasp what I cannot express or whether I can actually grasp it, but yet, it is not be possessed as objects, or us not being exchangeable, but we and various things can be clues to live in a way "exist". For that reason, I weave threads. I look for the knots facing the distance between being me and being myself.