Texts
After a Rainy Autumn Night
Paik Philgyun
Because between the act of seeing (bo-neun) and sending (bo-nae-neun) lies the self (nae), I gaze at your back and send these words. This place is a crossroads where earth, rope, and salt trace the stories that brought them here. Shadows of standing stones stretch long beneath the eaves. Beneath them, a figure robed in braided rope takes its place. Beneath its ribs, its torso cradles a lost sibling—a stump, stripped bare, having given everything to the boy, leaving only itself behind. It longs to become the resting ground where you might pause—a place of the greatest freedom.
Armless bodies stand side by side, spaced an arm’s length apart—front to back, left to right. Their steps, lingering in last night’s wind-path, reach the stone field where questions begin to bloom. After a rainy autumn night, seven upright menhirs, five letters, four salt sculptures, two rope pillars, and one stump await their guests.
The memories lodged in the seven standing stones dwell in silent meditation. On days when the red wilderness whispers omens of death, the colors that wait and those that confront one another share a profound kinship. When the front-right menhir steps forward, the diagonal axis aligns the menhirs and the winddance in a mirrored symmetry—just a step away from the end of the field.
Right-Front, Dog’s Water Sack misses the thick, furry breath.
Center-Front, Cloud Screen yearns for the tilted walls of the square.
Left-Front, Memory of Dawn greets the wind beneath the dawn sky, beyond the mosquito net of the high-rise home.
Center-Right, Valley of Fire is stained by the red wilderness.
Center-Center, Wild Camomile-like Array nurtures the days of youth left in its stamens.
Right-Back, Weed’s Struggle carries on the roundelay of grasses.
Left-Back, Sandy Palm descends the staircase, recalling a lover’s skin.
The memories entangled in rope dredge up a forgotten question. Where does grand love take root? Hope writhes within the transparent pillar.
Left-Center, Parting is neat.
Center-Back, Aerial is a tiger-evading path—studied by all.
Frost gathers on the angular crown of the salt named after the sea goddess. He measures the world by a contract that is never renewed. In the raindrop-ringing hall, the boy wipes the frost from its surface. With the resolve to call it an ark, he continues to tend.
The oncoming lover is said to be the cause of forgetting. Nonsense. A pillar that supports nothing orderly promises a torso shared by tree and human. Yet here, Another Stump is my given portion.
Paik Philgyun
Because between the act of seeing (bo-neun) and sending (bo-nae-neun) lies the self (nae), I gaze at your back and send these words. This place is a crossroads where earth, rope, and salt trace the stories that brought them here. Shadows of standing stones stretch long beneath the eaves. Beneath them, a figure robed in braided rope takes its place. Beneath its ribs, its torso cradles a lost sibling—a stump, stripped bare, having given everything to the boy, leaving only itself behind. It longs to become the resting ground where you might pause—a place of the greatest freedom.
Armless bodies stand side by side, spaced an arm’s length apart—front to back, left to right. Their steps, lingering in last night’s wind-path, reach the stone field where questions begin to bloom. After a rainy autumn night, seven upright menhirs, five letters, four salt sculptures, two rope pillars, and one stump await their guests.
The memories lodged in the seven standing stones dwell in silent meditation. On days when the red wilderness whispers omens of death, the colors that wait and those that confront one another share a profound kinship. When the front-right menhir steps forward, the diagonal axis aligns the menhirs and the winddance in a mirrored symmetry—just a step away from the end of the field.
Right-Front, Dog’s Water Sack misses the thick, furry breath.
Center-Front, Cloud Screen yearns for the tilted walls of the square.
Left-Front, Memory of Dawn greets the wind beneath the dawn sky, beyond the mosquito net of the high-rise home.
Center-Right, Valley of Fire is stained by the red wilderness.
Center-Center, Wild Camomile-like Array nurtures the days of youth left in its stamens.
Right-Back, Weed’s Struggle carries on the roundelay of grasses.
Left-Back, Sandy Palm descends the staircase, recalling a lover’s skin.
The memories entangled in rope dredge up a forgotten question. Where does grand love take root? Hope writhes within the transparent pillar.
Left-Center, Parting is neat.
Center-Back, Aerial is a tiger-evading path—studied by all.
Frost gathers on the angular crown of the salt named after the sea goddess. He measures the world by a contract that is never renewed. In the raindrop-ringing hall, the boy wipes the frost from its surface. With the resolve to call it an ark, he continues to tend.
The oncoming lover is said to be the cause of forgetting. Nonsense. A pillar that supports nothing orderly promises a torso shared by tree and human. Yet here, Another Stump is my given portion.
