Mattress of an Old Monk. This is the place where he slept everyday, for months,
years, the place which contains his body weigh, his agony, solitude, the place
where he was awakening and dreaming, the place where the old monk lay at his
last moment. When I saw this mattress after his nirvana I feel his trace of
life, I imagine of how he was living and it compels me to artistically express
his personal history.
If somebody asks
me where my home is, I answer it is where my mattress is, where I can rest,
where I feel comfortable. Despite the many material satisfactions of this
world, the most meager of possessions affords this rest, this comfortable
place. The last thing I need in this world will be a mattress and this last
mattress will be my home.