During Chagall’s exhibition, some colleagues coincidentally told me that he reminded them of me. Indeed, I am down-to-earth and poised on the outside while inside, I hardly have my feet glued to the ground though I manage to strike a balance between the two extremes most of the time.
After I moved in April, it took me some time to get accustomed to the new apartment and new neighborhood. Like going to a hotel, the first thing I look for is always the desk. My current desk isn’t large, but now it has been transformed into a colorful space by me, for the hidden purpose of trying to cover the ink stains I accidentally splashed onto the walls. This is my sanctuary, where I can land safe and sound after my countless imaginary flights into kingdoms that others don’t know exist. And lately I’ve been collecting so many stories during phone talks while drawing at the desk. There are tales of lost love, desperate love, family love, and so on and on and on. I hope I won’t forget the calm and satisfaction I feel here when I move away one day.
The second part of the year is about to unfold. Simple happiness wells up in my heart when I hit upon the thought that the desk will accompany me for another two months. Moreover, I hope there will be another desk waiting for me in autumn in London.