So Goda said, let there be flowers. And all the trees, in equal parts protest and obeisance, sucked all the air into their heartwood and let out a transcendent exhale.

The flowers that bloomed were radically united, and as one they licked every branch and twig and leaf with their velvet pink tongues, and the trees released a collective moan.

The pleasure was as intense as the flowers were magnificent, and the trees could not have asked for anything more, and Goda saw that this relationship was lacking higher purpose, and felt things could be better.

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To exhume a body, all you must do is breathe yourself out—

perhaps early, in the morning, as the sun wakes

somewhere in a watery desert or at the foothills of a sweet

yellow mountain.

There, there you are. Breathing.

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A Chinese restaurant. Seattle, 1979, I am four. I sit in a red booth by the window. Outside the sky is dark. Light drops of rain hit the pavement. My parents and their friend sit across from me, eating, talking, reaching chopsticks, raising bowls, clinking spoons. Waiters rush back and forth to the kitchen. A tank of live fish sits near the door. We ate one of them for dinner…

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She had been dreaming of fluffy white rabbits, grazing vast, lush fields of green. “That’s how the Star People come to be among us,” Sprout had said. “Through rabbits.” She doodled them munching on the edges of our notepaper. Rabbits, with their stumpy forelegs and longer hind legs, climbing the margins of our books. “You can tell that they’re not normal rabbits because they glowed,” Sprout had said, chuckling. “Glow in the dark bunnies, how cute, right?” Sprout would wriggle her thumb through her index and middle finger like a tail, hopping her way down our thighs in class, leaving behind pressed pink imprints.

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We wondered between us if the fawn had been abandoned. Was she okay? Where was her mama? What should we do? Johann left the room, took the warmth with him, maybe to do some research about baby deer. He seldom told me what he was up to. I had stopped asking.

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Shan Hur’s sculptural interventions disrupt the viewer’s perception of the white cube as an art container, directly implicating the gallery space as an active element in the artwork itself. The ideas, which inform his practice, derive from a careful examination of construction sites and closed shops, fascinated by the moment of transition when a particular space is reconfigured for a new purpose.

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