There are several centers – no, sometimes an infinite number – and it’s a circle with no circumference.” The old man frowned as he said this, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening. “Are you able to picture that kind of circle in your mind?”

“Cream”, First Person Singular (2021) – Haruki Murakami (trans. Philip Gabriel)

 

Circle

Apeirogon

Infinity is a concept 

There’s no true circle in the world 

Myself

Height as diameter

Half as radius 

One fourth as half its radius

One thirteenth its weight the loading

Thoughts, words and deeds form an immortal circle 

And

Dialogical space 

Staggered conversations

Deeds show the trace 

End and rest as one

 

Inspired by the punishment from The Myth of Sisyphus, no other punishment is more terrifying than undertaking meaningless and hopeless work. With my height and weight as measuring references, I drag a perforated iron ball filled with ink. As I build the track, I record a conversation with myself and attempt to draw for myself a perfect circle. However, both ‘perfect’ and ‘circle’ are imaginary constructs. How can one present a conceptually perfect circle? 

 

Using a compass, I trace a perfect circle with white wooden pencil. Then it is further divided into an isometric grid with the same implements. Stroke by stroke, I fill in the grids with a charcoal pencil, telling the Myth of Sisyphus. After each stroke, the pencil is sharpened all over again. 

 

It is merely a fruitless writing experience.