He Fa on the Fluorescent Pennant Tower

Orange, acid-green and cream triangular frames project alternately from a wooden upright. Bolts remain visible at the joints, while grey straps draw the apparatus onto my shoulders. He Fa stands facing forward in a dark-plum jumpsuit; the face does not change direction with every flag. The apparatus is conspicuous, but the more conspicuous it becomes, the more we need to establish where it wants others to go.

There are gaps between the frames, with no instructions that can simply be read. The outward gestures may suggest transmission, but I cannot present them as an actual system of semaphore. Artistic signals can permit meanings not yet settled; practical directions need clearer conventions. Confusing the two quickly turns richness into a conflict the receiver must resolve alone.

I like the bolts that have not been hidden. They make the tower something carried and secured by a person, rather than an opinion issuing from nowhere. More signals mean more connections. No brightness of colour replaces the shoulders bearing the apparatus. To understand transmission, we must look beyond the farthest triangular tips and follow the wooden frame back to whoever keeps them appearing.

Reducing everything to one direction might clarify it, or erase disagreements that genuinely need expression. I do not want tidiness to eliminate multiple voices. What is needed is an account of relations: under which conditions the signals apply, where they conflict, and whether receivers can say they cannot follow them all at once. Diversity should acknowledge incompatibility, not demand that others execute every direction together.

I leave the five frames extended while my hands remain empty for now. The apparatus can be taken off, and transmission can pause. Next time a route must be chosen, I hope to provide a specific here and now, rather than press every possible direction upon someone simultaneously and cite their fluorescent brightness as proof that I have expressed myself clearly.