I clearly recall when I was eight, I had the recurrent if not constant impression that a light white thread was hanging off my fingertips, floating around my body as I was walking, getting tangled in, wrapped around my body limbs and surrounding signposts or tree branches. A sort of single spiderweb silky thread that would much annoy me at times but which I'd cherish because it was uniquely mine. The dripping technique, accidentally similar to Jackson Pollock's technique, is in my hand a form of performance, it is free from contact with surface drawing. It is dancing paint, drawing in the air. My present work, which I see as a pseudo-scientific research, is the closest match I approached to the expression of the essence of our thoughts. The marks left behind intend to be the illusions confirming the sovereignty of impermanence over reality,chasing the elusive truth that reality is not but the subtle work of our mind.