The angle of sunlight is slightly more oblique in Barcelona than in Taipei, due to the approximately 16-degree difference in latitude between the two cities from September to October. I've noticed the daily changes in the sunlight; the rays penetrate the room a little further each day, tracing the entire length of the wall and almost completely covering it. A large window occupies most of one wall, and every day I open both the wooden wool blinds and the panes of the window, which open to either side. This action has become a kind of ritual, whether in the morning when I get up or at night when I return home. Opening the windows marks the beginning of the rest of my daily activities in the room, while adjusting them allows me to control the amount of light entering.
I've watched the shapes shift, how light and shadow move. Just when I think I can control these movements, the sun moves a little further the next day and rises later. I chase the sunlight and shadows as if I could create shapes with this simple interaction. This precious scene allows my thoughts to flow freely around the room, and I can concentrate on my observations of the sun's rays. It's in this moment of concentration that I can momentarily escape the noise and dust from the construction outside.
Through memories of faraway places, I have become aware of the changes in sunlight that mark the time, the weather, and the day-to-day.
Between the flickering light and the shadow, I immerse myself in the poetic imagination of memory.