Deyu Yang

Whoever you are, you have found a stone.

For some years I thought, believed, felt, and wandered, mostly alone. No one else was there to remember it with me. Memory is soft. It keeps nothing for long, and it will go when I go.

So I carve.

Not to be seen, only to leave something that will still say, after me: this was real. Someone was here, and lived, and thought these things.

So far, I have carved some stories behind a few of my photographs. A camera keeps the light of a moment, but not what the moment meant. That part I leave beside each picture.

If you are reading this, perhaps that is a small kind of fate. You’re welcome to stay a while.