72” x 36”, oil on canvas

Rain-soaked autumn making its long journey into

exile.

Reason that lays out its bits of jade and amber.

The in-vain-coloured oriole in this frost of written

form.

Several paintings, and this is one, seem to ponder the nature of their own existence. The in-vain-coloured oriole is something that can exist only in writing. But here writing is frost. Like frost, it appears as the weather turns cold. When it vanishes, everything written in that frost will disappear. Perhaps everything that appears is going to vanish. I don’t know where the idea of an oriole being “in-vain-coloured” came from, or how to interpret it.