"One of my earliest childhood memories was my first trip on a train which happened sometime in the 1970s. It was already dark when we set out and we were surrounded by a tightly packed, noisy crowd which quieted down after midnight. My mother held me, cradling my head on her lap, soothing me to sleep. I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythmical murmur of the wheels. I do not know how much time had passed when I awoke and realized I had fallen asleep. Darkness fell, the seated passengers on the train looked like clay statues seen in temples, and for a moment, I could not comprehend where I was. The sense of foreignness terrified me and made me feel completely helpless. Seized by panic, I momentarily thought I was still in a dreamscape and had yet to waken. I paused, losing my sense of time, I finally came to realize that I was on a train. I got up and looked for my mother whom I find sitting across from me, was fast asleep leaning on my father. I whispered to her and she took me into her arms. I was sleepless throughout the rest of the night with the jolting movement of the train that kept me company until the break of day….

Ten years later, I woke up and discovered myself in a city called Beijing. Twenty years have passed and I now wake up on the other side of the Pacific Ocean. I have no idea where I will find myself a decade later, but the feeling of each midnight reverie has remained as vivid as that of my childhood memory.

I might as well regard myself as a traveller. Most travellers write down their thoughts in a diary. Where is my diary? Perhaps a painter does not need a diary to record his life for which his accumulated works served the purpose. It has been many years since I have dated any completed painting but I am always able to tell the exact date of a particular work when someone asks about it. I can even remember what the weather was like on that particular day, who came to see me, or what was said. As for those works I have deliberately kept with me, I do not think there is anything particular about them but just something unforgettable happened when I created them. In this view, my paintings serve as an encrypted diary, not to be shared with others. It would demand a great deal of brainwork in order to solve the puzzle.

From the early Ming and Qing style ink paintings to the present passion for vintage costume, I have always been stubborn in choosing the themes for my work. In the eye of the beholder, my work embeds some secret codes, yet for me, they have been a way to guide me home. I know them so well like my own home. When one is on the road for a while, one would think of going home. After staying at one place for too long, one would want to start a long journey. Time after time, I depart for a journey from this pattern and tradition; my physical body may be here, my mind drifts to a faraway place.

This kind of thinking has created a corresponding painting style. Whether it is Oriental or Western, classicism or realism, Ni Yun-lin or Balthus, I carefully arrange them as if preparing a feast for myself. If it were beyond the comprehension of the beholder, I would not blame them or myself. It is as if this elaborately adorned banquet were prepared for myself, so that I can find a familiar face should I awake amidst unfamiliar surroundings in the darkness of a midnight train. I understand that this recurring midnight feeling will always accompany me.  Like my physical body, my work neither belongs here nor there, but is on a train speeding through the night."

- Wei Dong, Residence in the USA, Winter 2011