Wangbin village, Shenyang, my hometown.
A big fire took place there, at about the same time as the fire at Notre Dame, Paris. The fire in this place seemed less important for that reason. But it was once my home. I knew every pine tree on its hills. I knew that after the fire, the branches of those pines would have the wind coming through the them. The wind into the pine trees: I had always loved this image.
I drove back to Shenyang, and saw these trees and hills that looked like the ones in Caspar David Friedrich’s paintings.
I was in a volume of a novel, looking for directions that I could understand, and I would shoot arrows in that direction. I seemed to be questioning something? It was likely to be culture. I was here, guided, at one with this bow, which is a tool of some sort. Some of these burnt trees were still alive, while some were dead. However, after trees burst into flames, new plants, grasses and trees would grow thereupon. It was not devastating. It was a new beginning.

瀋陽，我的老家。望濱村。
那裡燒了一場大火，跟巴黎圣母院失火，大概在同一時間。這個地方的火，顯得沒那麼重要。但是它是我曾經的家。山上的每一棵松樹都是我了解的。我知道那些松樹的枝葉，被火燒過之後，會有風穿過樹林。風入松，我一直都很喜歡這個意象。
開著車，回到瀋陽，看見的是大衛·弗里德里希的樹木和山林。
我在一本小說裡，尋找能理解的方向，並且朝那裡射箭。不是很確定， 我似乎是在質疑些什麼 ? 那可能是文化。我在這裡，被指引，跟這張 弓融為一體，成為某種工具。這些被燒過的樹有些還活著，有些已經死去。但是，當樹木被火燒毀之後，會有新的植物，草木生長出來。並不令人絕望，是一個新的開始。