We talk so much about "love" or "I love you," but I often wonder, if love is worth a thousand words, why do we still need words, letters, or even language at all?


This project originates from my previous work, where I favored traditional photograph- ic techniques and explored different expressions in utilizing archives. I have chosen this project as the research direction and goal for the next stage, continuing from my pre- vious body of work. From historical letters, I sought common ground, finding myself moved by their words, which then inspired my own photography and creative process. 
Letters and images, both serve as languages for re-presenting scenes. Though they may seem similar, they complement each other. A still image is often too clear, almost to the point of leaving no room for imagination, yet it remains powerful enough to serve as evidence. On the other hand, words are grounded in context and imagination, and it is precisely this imaginative aspect that allows us to feel deeply when reading words written centuries ago. 

Memory itself is fragile, and what people are most willing to believe is often simply the version of memory that resides in imagination. Perhaps this is why I am drawn to using these two mediums—both capable of fictionalizing—to create new narratives. I have a particular fondness for film photography, and the process of reading a letter feels much like the act of photographing with a film camera. After taking the photograph, I would spend long hours in the darkroom, repeatedly examining the negatives I had shot. When the photo is finally printed, weeks or even months after the moment it was taken, the image seems to have undergone a shift in time, creating a sense of temporal disorientation. The experience of reading letters is similarly timeless. I find myself drifting beyond the confines of real-time, seeking a shared emotional expression. In my past works, I often embraced the accidental and erroneous images that emerged during the developing or printing process, using them as an unanticipated complement to the imagination. 

In today’s world, the fine-tuned precision of images no longer holds the power to convince. Perhaps the errors themselves are traces of something deeper—imperfec- tions that are part of the story. We talk so much about "love" or "I love you," but I often wonder, if love is worth a thousand words, why do we still need words, letters, or even language at all? Could it be that the essence of love, like memory, transcends the boundaries of expression, slipping through the gaps between what we see and what we feel? These uncertainties and imperfections in both letters and images are where the true meaning often resides.