ABOUT

One day, Harlequin set out to find new meanings. He couldn’t connect with people, so he wandered away toward the sea. Eventually, he noticed a silhouette and approached it. But the figure was ancient, covered in moss, holding memories that had long become unreachable. Its body remained, yet clearly, its soul had drifted elsewhere.

Harlequin realized that the soulless, bronze sculpture thrown into the sea understood him profoundly at that very moment. The song playing in his headphones convinced him that they were communicating. Indeed, what was the chance Harlequin would encounter a bronze sculpture appearing entirely devoid of life yet possessing more vitality than everyone he had ever tried speaking to?

Harlequin began to feel toward this sculpture—not exactly compassion or sympathy—but rather a recognition of himself, as though he were conversing with his inner self. Words became unnecessary; just looking out at the sea was enough. Sometimes it seemed the sculpture responded with a wink or a subtle smile. And when it grew weary, it appeared to dip its feet in the water to distance itself from Harlequin for a while.

On certain days, the sculpture became unreachable as the high tide prevented Harlequin from coming closer. Yet he, fully dressed, would swim to reach it. Even during high tides, he swam to be near it. Suspended in the weightlessness between the black sky and the trembling ocean, he simply remained close to the bronze sculpture, feeling his own belonging. This sense of belonging was what drove him to venture so far out.

There was no one else. Occasionally, the stars appeared, and Harlequin spoke about each one he knew. Sometimes, he could even see their bronze reflections shimmering gently in the sculpture. People couldn’t reflect stars like that. Have you ever seen stars reflected in people?