Seems it was almost three weeks ago that one morning, I decided to go for a stroll through Philosopher's Walk. It was one of those stunning spring days and I found myself in the lucky position of having time to myself between leaving breakfast with a friend and getting to work on time. Instead of speeding through on my bike as I usually would, I walked. And I found these amazing burnt pieces of a textbook and class notes. Looked to be from a science class. I imagined a lone student, in heavy darkness, exorcising themselves from the memories of an awful professor who smelled like chalk and chemicals, harried TAs who just wanted to get the lab over already and apathetic fellow classmates who never felt like anything beyond a number in a lecture hall full of hundreds of other people. I like to think that this student felt a satisfied sense of relief after watching a year's worth of work burn and blow away.
I've hesitated posting this piece because I don't really understand why I was compelled to make it. But, I'm always telling other people how important it is to stay vulnerable, so here is my attempt to walk the talk.
After I pasted the burnt pages together, I attacked the heavy stock with black and white paint.
Then, I burnt the edges. It was nighttime and I was outside on my balcony, stamping out the flames when they got a bit too big to blow out. I felt kind of nuts. (Don't worry, I had water nearby.)
Here's what I ended up with; I'm perplexed, yet fascinated.