There is an obsession with the linear fluidity of time that lies deep inside of my heart.

I have grown a peculiar fear of shiny, metallic, smooth façades of architectures recently. Maybe it is because the immortality those perfection represent could not bear any memory of the city. I fall in love deeply into marks on surfaces, the rusts on metal and scars on our skin. They are the medium that connect us to the years we have gone through, the time that flew by and the memories we bear.