thank you for recording

thank you for recording opens up a space where the act of staging creates its own kind of truth. In the absence of solid ground, it is the persistence of questioning and reimagining that holds everything together. Recording in the context of the exhibition extends beyond video or audio. It is understood as a broader form of documentation: a way to preserve, reconstruct, or make sense of an experience. Shaped by intention, perspective, and context, it becomes both archive and performance. The document becomes unstable, distorted, not a clear trace but a site of friction between remembering and imagining. Looking at the works together, I felt an almost physical jolt. For some reason, it reminded me of that moment when you touch your pocket and realize your phone is missing. Your entire system halts for a split second, and in that flash, everything sharpens. A vibration in the body, a surge of recognition, and the sudden absence of something that was just there. This moment, when something is recognized as lost, feels both abrupt and vague, with no clear timeline. The mind shifts into a mode of reconstruction. A rehearsal begins; not to prepare for what is to come, but to respond to what has already happened. Each step retraced carries uncertainty. Gestures are repeated and spaces revisited, as if scenes might be rebuilt from memory. While some fragments remain intact and clear, others begin to distort or dissolve entirely. In this way, the search becomes a creative act, not about factual recovery but about inventing something out of necessity. Traces emerge as fragile, personal records, attempts to hold onto impressions, and emotional imprints. They are shaped as much by what is preserved as by what inevitably slips away. Here, documentation functions not as proof, but as a form of possibility, an echo of something that once was or might have been.