
Artist's commentary
ใทใฃใใชใคใผใซ็ใฎ้จ
ใใใงๆใ่ฟใใใฎใซๅฟ ่ฆใชใฎใฏใ็ฉ่ชใงใใใ่จ่ใงใใใๅฟซๆฅฝใงใใใ็กๅฟใงใใใ่จ็ฎใงใใใๅพฎ็ฌใงใใใๅใงใใใ่ฆณๅฏใงใใใ็ดๆใงใใใๆณๅใงใใใ็ฅ่ญใงใใใๅพฎ็กใงใใใ่ณขใๅฆนใฎๅๆฐใงใใใๆญปใซใใใชใใจใใๆฏใใงใใใๅใๅฝผใฎๅใซๅใใใใชใๅผฑใใงใใใๅใ่ชๅใฎๅใซๅใใใใชใๅผฑใใงใใใ
ใใใๅ จใฆใ่ฒปใใใใใใใใใใใใใๅฅ่ทกใฎใใใชๆใ่จชใใฆโโ
ใใใฆใพใใๆฌกใฎๅคใๆฅใใ
King Shahryฤr's Bedchamber
To welcome morning, what was necessary was a tale. Words. Pleasure. Innocence. Calculation. A smile. A lie. Observation. Instinct. Imagination. Knowledge. Slumber. The bravery of my smart sister. The fear of death. Weakness that would not let me put a knife to his throat. Weakness that would not let me put a knife to my own throat.
I put them all to use...and finally...finally...morning came like a miracle.
And then night comes once again.
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