Temporary Monument

In FROM VENUS — LIVE (2024), Temporary Monument became part of the work: costumes and props hung directly on it. The performer moved around it, changed clothes, picked up props, entering and leaving different roles.

Made of aluminum tubing, fabric, and wheels, it could be pushed and repositioned throughout the exhibition space.

The structure's surface was covered with a green backdrop cloth. Working on Milos, I placed artificial material directly alongside nature in my work for the first time: a long green cloth hung down from the white rocks of the coast, dipped into the sea, and was eventually washed clean by the seawater.

In spring 2026, I rebuilt this structure and moved it to the bank of the Rhine. Indoors, the three-meter structure felt enormous to me, and the artificial green was very intense. But once it was actually placed between the river, the sky, and the city, I realized how small, brief, and fragile it was — even people passing by barely noticed it.

Once it left the exhibition space, it no longer felt like a monument, or even much like an “artwork.” It was just a green tower slowly moving along the riverbank.

The act of moving it also changed how I understood the piece. The riverbank was muddy, the three-meter structure was hard to control, the upper part kept swaying, and I had to use my own body to keep it balanced. A “monument” that was meant to stand firm became clumsy and unstable in a real environment.

Through this process, I began to realize that “permanent” and “temporary” are not opposites. The human body, monuments, cities, even the river itself — all exist at different scales of time and space. Permanence may only be so relative to something more fleeting; eternity may be a kind of deception.