Tri Ngo is just a painter. He pushes pigments and oils around until they pacify the torrential thoughts that occupy his empty mind and unravel his sorrowful heart. He may have a master’s degree, but he still knows nothing, for his dream is to build a box to hold the moon.
Tri Ngo is the Maker who fell from the garden beneath the mirrored horizon.
Shrouded in seagull wings of encrusted wax, entombed by the salted silent sea, he reawakened into this land of rotating perspectives.
And so, with the hammer of crafts, with the mouse of designs, with brushes that feel, with pens that see, with a mind that draws moonlit visions and a heart that pulls forth the slippery memories that fade with each knell of the soundless bell, he schemes dreams and conceives Janusian things.
His is the quest to evert the world, if only for a moment.
Only then will he be able to find his way home, to his garden between the two inverted shores.
Tri Ngo is an idiot who knows not the names nor the identities of the things sitting in his studio. Because of this deficiency, he constructs strange narratives in order to discern the applications of these mundane objects.
Are they lies?
“They are real, for what is reality? It is the infinite sum of all stories we tell ourselves, the stories we tell each other, the stories we choose to believe when we go to sleep at night.” – Tri Ngo, 2018
He is but a fool.
Tri Ngo is a designer who designed the first bowl capable of holding all the water on Earth. He plans to pour the Pacific Ocean into this said bowl so that he can walk to Japan and visit a girl he met there back in the Summer of 2013.
Tri Ngo must be the worst architect who ever lived. He designed his house without any walls, floor or roof. He then proceeds to carry it around like a hermit crab.
To be fair, it does garner the attention of cute flight attendances whenever he brings it on an airplane.