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Étude Op. 2, No 1 by SougwenHigh Tide, Bloom, Cocoon, Origin Etude Op.2, No 1-4 is the second opus in an ongoing series of meditations on form and memory. The Études’ deliberately minimal approach alludes to an abstract narrative of loss and revival. In succession: Cocoon, Bloom, Flight, High Tide. Formal variation, restrained palettes, and austere compositions invite the viewer into intricately textured worlds that echo beyond the surface of the image. Drawing informs the character of this series of Études. The dimensional form and composition of each piece is inspired by textures and elements within an original series of improvisational graphite drawings, preserving a sense of immediacy in the final pieces. www.sougwen.com

Étude Op. 2, No 1 by Sougwen
High Tide, Bloom, Cocoon, Origin

Etude Op.2, No 1-4 is the second opus in an ongoing series of meditations on form and memory. The Études’ deliberately minimal approach alludes to an abstract narrative of loss and revival. In succession: Cocoon, Bloom, Flight, High Tide. Formal variation, restrained palettes, and austere compositions invite the viewer into intricately textured worlds that echo beyond the surface of the image.

Drawing informs the character of this series of Études. The dimensional form and composition of each piece is inspired by textures and elements within an original series of improvisational graphite drawings, preserving a sense of immediacy in the final pieces.

www.sougwen.com

My mother died in 2011. I was with her when she took her last breath. In fact there was no last breath. Each breath grew smaller and smaller. I took her pulse when it appeared that there would not be another breath. I like to think that there was one last tiny heart beat, but in fact there was no end. Only a growing silence which continues now. It was a couple of days after Japan’s tsunami. Images that devastated me. I like to think that through these images and the anxiety that they triggered in me, I anticipated my mom’s death. But I can’t be sure of anything anymore, can I ? Everything we know, everything we did, everything we think we are, everything and everyone we love, all this will be wiped out. We would like to think that something will remain, culture, knowledge, or call it “life” if you don’t want to call it God, but of this also, we have no certitude. “No certitude” seems to be the only one we have, but even this is a concept, and concepts are the first thing to go down the drain, aren’t they ? This project is dedicated to the mysterious forces thanks to which we can traverse ordeals.

My mother died in 2011. I was with her when she took her last breath. In fact there was no last breath. Each breath grew smaller and smaller. I took her pulse when it appeared that there would not be another breath. I like to think that there was one last tiny heart beat, but in fact there was no end. Only a growing silence which continues now.

It was a couple of days after Japan’s tsunami. Images that devastated me. I like to think that through these images and the anxiety that they triggered in me, I anticipated my mom’s death. But I can’t be sure of anything anymore, can I ?

Everything we know, everything we did, everything we think we are, everything and everyone we love, all this will be wiped out. We would like to think that something will remain, culture, knowledge, or call it “life” if you don’t want to call it God, but of this also, we have no certitude. “No certitude” seems to be the only one we have, but even this is a concept, and concepts are the first thing to go down the drain, aren’t they ?

This project is dedicated to the mysterious forces thanks to which we can traverse ordeals.