The exhibition is composed of 80 paper-cuts, made with black and white construction paper. The artwork themes are mainly Asia and Macau, by using the techniques of modern way in applying the Chinese and Japanese styles of paper cutting. In addition to paper cuts, a number of pen-pencil-ink abstract sketches are included in the exhibition as well.
Voice In The Murk Series 1:
It is the only true ‘voice’ that only few men possess— the voice of the artist, poet, sage, and dreamer. It is the voice that makes the soul sing rainbow and it defines the birds. It is the primeval voice that sings fire in the darkest of the murk.
Voice In The Murk Series 2:
It is the most invincible voice of storm where silence oppresses. It is the voice that speaks wisdom where folly reigns. It is the voice endowed in a Christ, in a Buddha, in a Zoroaster, in a dying man, in a madman, in a clown, in a sadhu.
Voice In The Murk Series 3:
The voice that once in a while whispers in us, and when that happens we discover our very own selves, making us unspeakable. That is the awe of life; the real celebration of life.
Voice in the Murk Series 4: Thinking Out of the Box 1
It whispers: “Time is a piece of ice slowly melting in the sun. Dripping like blood from a serious wound that cannot wait for healing, it poses to be life’s most vicious nemesis. Time is actually what we are between birth and death.” It whispers the truth to us, and its voice cries within us; and it begs us to listen; it bleeds inside us; it begs us to heed.
Voice in the Murk Series 5: Thinking Out of the Box 2
The voice soared in the wind, settled on the hills and on branches. Where did it come from? Perhaps that is somebody from other village? Perhaps a mother is calling her children for meal? Perhaps a farmer is breaking his water buffalo? Within the fog it was just hard to tell. It came and left. It came and left with the birds. It came and left with the breeze.
Voice in the Murk Series 5: Thinking Out of the Box 2
The voice soared in the wind, settled on the hills and on branches. Where did it come from? Perhaps that is somebody from other village? Perhaps a mother is calling her children for meal? Perhaps a farmer is breaking his water buffalo? Within the fog it was just hard to tell. It came and left. It came and left with the birds. It came and left with the breeze.
