On the Forms of Returning

Let us think of a small plant branch that has shed its leaves in autumn.

Its trunk is still upright, but now focused on directions, not growth.

Each branch represents a possibility.

Possibilities that have been pursued to their end point, tried, exhausted.

On these branches,

there is a small insect that chooses not to fly despite having wings.

A ladybug.

Instead of moving forward, it stops, turns back, heads toward another branch.

This is not indecision;

this is the rhythm of seeking a path.

Artistic production is often thought of together with the idea of progress.

Yet what appears in practice is not linear movement

but a circulation woven with returns, deviations, and repetitions.

One goes to the end of a branch,

realizes that something is exhausted there

and turns back.

These returns are often misread.

As hesitation, indecision, or disorientation.

Yet for some productions, turning back

is a conscious refusal.

It is the expression of not continuing, of taking another possibility seriously.

Today, many works

choose to wander on the same branches

even when they have the possibility to spread their wings and fly.

Because flying is risky.

Breaking away from the ground means losing context.

Walking, however, allows one to remain in contact.

This text does not stand in a place that glorifies or criticizes production.

Rather, it describes a situation:

At which point the artist turns back within their own practice,

which branch they abandon and why

and which new possibility they silently explore.

Some works appear small at first glance.

Just like the ladybug's effort.

But these small movements

leave more lasting traces than great leaps.

Because they are not in a hurry.

Because they place changing direction before progress.

Autumn is not the season of ending.

It is the season of sorting.

What is unnecessary falls,

what can be carried remains.

Artistic practice goes through a similar process:

Not every branch is grasped.

Not every path continues.

But every return

makes a new possibility visible.

Perhaps the matter

is not whether to fly or not.

Perhaps the real matter

is knowing when to continue walking.