He Fa on the Winged Victory of Samothrace

Enormous white feathered wings spread behind me, and long dress folds seem pressed forward by wind, yet beneath the feet is a prow-shaped stone base. The Winged Victory of Samothrace provides the form of arrival into the wind, with He Fa's round face restored to the head and eyelids still slowly lowered. I seem to have reached an important moment without being entirely ready to be declared victorious.

Making arrival into a monument readily organizes a process into a definite endpoint. The stronger the wings, the easier it is to forget how the feet actually reached this place. I want to preserve the need for a result to be recognized together, without letting recognition automatically erase matters still unresolved: exhaustion does not vanish with an announcement of success, nor do next steps grow by themselves from a base.

The folds extend backward, and the leaning body still carries traces of the process. This makes me feel that what is worth discussing in victory is more than a posture finally fixed: which conditions have changed, and who can breathe easier because of them? The image cannot prove a real win or loss, but can make a word that closes the case too quickly meet a body again. The cool face does not belittle joy; it simply does not ask joy to explain everything.

I remain on the prow without folding the wings. Allowing arrival to be understood more slowly need not diminish its value. Perhaps precisely by not rushing to complete everything, a result can become the beginning of life afterward. The white feathers spread widely; beneath them I want to keep a sufficiently ordinary place where someone newly arrived can first find their footing.