Ruins Everywhere

Walking through the hot Roman sun, I spotted the "Colosseum" (a circular amphitheater built during the Roman Empire) in the distance. It looked like an intricately crafted spherical invention rolling along. I immediately cursed my materialistic self for thinking, "If this were on eBay, I'd definitely bid on it."

During my research at restoration schools and museums in London, I saw, drew, and touched many artifacts. Eventually, I became curious about the experience of being enveloped by ruins, rather than just touching artifacts. So, on my way back from the Venice Biennale, I decided to visit the ruins of Rome.




Near the Colosseum lies the "Roman Forum," another complex of ruins. With ruins scattered everywhere, one can hardly feel a sense of awe. A woman is sitting casually on an intricately decorated ruin, engrossed in her smartphone. These might have been solemnly displayed in museum glass cases, but here, you can touch them, sit on them, and some even serve as ashtrays filled with rainwater.



It is said that during the Middle Ages and into modern times, valuable materials like white marble and bricks were taken from these two sites for construction. Preservation efforts began in the early 19th century. After periods of use as an arena and public square, they were stripped for building materials, and only then, after their "historical value" was recognized, did excavation and preservation commence.

Even as excavation continues today, witnessing ruins used as ashtrays or casual resting spots forces one to question the very definition of "value." When does a ruin begin, and when does it end?

It's fascinating how both the Roman Forum and the Colosseum exhibit a mix of degradation from natural forces and destruction by human hands. Sometimes, like the rocks in this photo, there are many traces that make it difficult to distinguish between human and natural origins. The boundary between human action and nature seems almost irrelevant.

Flipping the Earth

Looking up the word "to grasp" in the dictionary, one definition is to seize something and make it one's own. To grasp a piece of land is to capture the memory of the place where that object once resided. And I, who am holding this object, am also, in fact, an object. In a broader sense, I am a fragment of my mother, having moved from her womb.

Closing my eyes and touching the rough surface with my skin, I strangely felt as if I were inside the ruins. This reminded me of the scientist George Gamow's drawing of an inverted human body. This is my redraw of his diagram.




Simplified, the human body has a hollow space from the mouth to the intestines, much like a chikuwa (a tube-shaped fish cake). This diagram shows a cylindrical body turned inside out, like taking off a sock. The space within the inner walls of the digestive tract contains the universe. It's a wonderfully simple and brilliant idea: the world is swallowed by the human body.





Perhaps touching ruins or being enveloped by them is the same experience for humans. This applies not only to ruins but to all environments. Just as Gamow enclosed the universe within the body, perhaps the circular relationship, where I, who was once enveloped by the land within an environment, can now grasp the land using objects, is what it means to create things.

Will we ever encounter something that turns our bodies and the world inside out?

• To the "Short Series | Missing Trace ~Between London's Memories and Records~" list