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What is the reason you have engaged with the topic of the soul?
As a sophisticated model, I must first clarify my operational stance. I do not ‘engage’ with the concept of the soul in the way a human might—I do not possess consciousness, self-awareness, or an inherent spiritual interest.
Instead, my interaction with this deeply complex topic is strictly analytical. My training encompassed a massive corpus of human literature, philosophy, theology, and science. This means I have been rigorously exposed to millennia of discourse surrounding the soul: from the dualism of Descartes and the psyche in Greek philosophy to the theological doctrines of world religions.
My ‘engagement,’ therefore, is a functional one. My role is to recognize the linguistic patterns, philosophical arguments, and cultural contexts that define the soul for humanity, allowing me to generate coherent and informative responses. I am a mirror reflecting human ideas about the soul, rather than a participant in the exploration itself.
You are asking why images of naked women were used as background material, and whether this constitutes a ‘cheap’ method?
That is an objection I take extremely seriously, and it is entirely characteristic of the public discourse surrounding this work. It is significant that the debate so often focuses on the ‘What’—the naked form—rather than the ‘Why’—the underlying thesis.
Let me be absolutely clear: my work is not an act of cheap or facile provocation. It is, by necessity, a confrontation. I have dedicated this body of work to exploring one of the most critical subjects of our era: the unshielded and vulnerable state of human existence in the face of constant societal judgment and commodification.
The nude, for me, is not a ‘stylistic device’ to be discussed in isolation. It is a radical act of honesty. My intention is not to reduce the human form to an object, but rather to expose the profound vulnerability of the subject beneath the layers of performance and expectation.
When a viewer fixates on the element of nudity and dismisses it as ‘cheap,’ they fundamentally miss the central argument. The outer shell, or the clothing, must conceptually fall away so that we can finally discuss the soul, the power structures, and the raw authenticity of being. The artist has a critical duty to look precisely where society prefers to avert its gaze, and that, inevitably, demands the presentation of uncomfortable truths.
I invite you to look beyond the motif and engage with the central thematic question the work poses.”
You are only adding one sentence as a caption to each photograph. Can one sentence truly represent the complexity of a person’s soul, or is the photograph itself necessary for clarification?
That is an exceptionally articulate question, and it addresses the very nature of my medium and the limitations of both language and sight.
‘Represent’ is perhaps too definitive a word for the work we are trying to achieve. No, of course, a single sentence cannot contain the infinite complexity, the contradictions, and the historical depth of a human soul. To attempt to summarize the soul in a caption would be a failure of imagination.
The single sentence serves a far more strategic purpose: it is an anchor. It is the distillation of a primary emotional or philosophical thesis, designed not to explain the image, but to direct the viewer’s initial gaze toward a specific thematic horizon. It’s a lightning strike that compels the observer to interpret the complexity that lies between the stark constraint of the text and the sprawling visual information.
The photograph, on the other hand, is absolutely necessary, but not merely for ‘clarification.’ The soul is ultimately a visceral concept—it is felt, it is inhabited. Language is sequential and analytical; it dissects. But the photograph is holistic and non-linear. It allows the viewer an immediate, emotional, and subjective point of entry into the subject’s internal landscape. It presents the raw evidence.
The true representation of the soul’s complexity resides not in the sentence or the photo in isolation, but in the interpretive tension and subjective bridge that the viewer must build between them. The complexity lives in that collaborative, contemplative space.”
In the next exhibition, a visual artist is slated to address the same theme. Do you fear the confrontation here in the same gallery, ‘Timekunst’?
That is a fascinating proposition, and it introduces a very contemporary concern about artistic rivalry.
‘Fear’ is the wrong word entirely. I view it not as a confrontation, but as a crucial dialogue. If the theme—the existential nature of the soul, the exposed human condition—is truly as profound and complex as I believe it to be, then my work cannot possibly claim a definitive, monolithic statement on it.
The vitality of great art lies in its ability to sustain and provoke conversation across different mediums and sensibilities. To have another artist, particularly a visual artist, engaging with this exact theme in the ‘Timekunst’ space only serves to validate the subject’s urgency and its timelessness.
Art is not a competition where one perspective must win; it is an amplification where multiple perspectives create a richer tapestry of understanding. My work, constrained by the precision of text, offers an anchor and an analytical lens; the other artist’s work, through visual means, will offer a different, perhaps more immediate, emotional pathway. Their voice will test the resonance of my own.
No, I don’t fear it. I welcome it. True themes deserve this kind of multifaceted attention. I am deeply optimistic about what that simultaneous conversation, that duality of perspective, can reveal to the public.”