Virgin thoughts

Virgin thoughts are sheer, transparent, and never concrete nor concluded—and that isn’t a weakness of the ideas, but rather a preservation of first thoughts, keeping them in a state of perpetual draft.

Drawing, unlike painting, captures the very first spark of an image, an idea, an action. Something that has never existed in the world before reveals its bare face through the act of drawing, of quickly jotting down a note. I especially cherish these virgin thoughts that come to me at daybreak, in the early morning just after waking from a dream. They would wither by midday unless I write or draw them immediately—like little dayflowers that bloom for only a few hours before fading away.

First attempts can be unbearable, inevitably embarrassing—even cringe. These are images I might rather hide and never show: the raw imperfections and naïveté of a draft. But if I push further to perfect them, those virgin thoughts could be lost forever. So I leave them as drafts, yet layer them in multiple veils, embracing their flaws in representation, memory, forgetfulness, and innocence.

This series of portraits on semi-transparent silk organza holds many layers. The weariness and tender first impressions of the figures overlap, revealing humble beginnings. Instead of working on the image until it reaches perfection, I layer multiple pieces of my first thoughts to complete it. There are various “portraits” of female figures—some appear as mere faces, others as still lifes: dayflowers I sketched at daybreak this summer, tinned fish, my very own palette dish, and so on. They all share one thing in common: they are my very first thoughts, first gestures, first presentation—thus, virgin. (Of course, it is up to you, the viewer, to enjoy conjuring all the different meanings in that word: virgin).