Knowledge takes a new shape when you start collecting something.
Mine is flat. And recyclable.
Everywhere you look there is cardboard. Inhaled and exhaled by the city every day. In front of shops. Behind shops. Piled up by the bins. Piled up on trolleys.
The best-looking cardboard comes from boxes that deliver bottles of Pocari Sweat. They’re taped, not glued. Cleaner seams. Thinner corrugations. Japanese design, of course.
I have several pieces myself, tucked in a suitcase, cut and compressed neatly, no creases. I did not have to fight anyone for it.
My suitcase is packed. I’m moving. Not all of me. Just all of me that is needed to paint. The cardboard is part of it.
I’m going to turn this city’s exhalations into something. Aspiration also means drawing breath.