The stroke

This image was taken some years ago in a housing estate in Singapore. This housing estate is unique as it is a block of rental flats. There are 11 storeys. The lifts end at the 10th storey. The only lift that goes straight up to the 11th storey is at the end of the block. There is a public toilet at the ground level.

Like other housing estates, there is a void deck, there are communal areas for small gatherings, a community garden that is under utilised or not in use at all. A small exercise area with reflexology foot massage pathway.

The scenes changes often. Some days, there are discarded furnitures around the lift area. Some days, there are nothing cluttering the lift area. Some days, vegetables are hanging out drying outside houses. Funeral in a unit and I heard it was a young girl. Dogs barking and barking….

Back to the image, I really like this stroke of paint that is wanting for attention. I wondered what happened there. With the passing of time, I have forgotten if this stroke of paint is still at the staircase. It’s a sense of absence and presence. This is gone, that is gone. This is not gone, that is not gone. This is gone and not gone. That is neither gone and not gone. This sequence of classic appropriation of Buddhist philosophy.

This stroke of pink paint unknowingly had became my connecting ‘object’ of remembrance to the place. It’s a still image of a quick gesture that links pieces of my memories together. A swift action that managed to encapsulate the traces of movements, sounds, voices, lights and shadows, stories, emotions, lives and death.