“The beauty of art does not refer to certain media. In fact, it can refer to any spaces.”
Moch Basori
A troubadour figure was riding a bicycle with super high speed. He passing through with his body bent like a racer, while his left hand besides the front axle as if will 'clutch' something of the path. Its roar cleaves the wind and the blood-red of mist. Behind the mist, Mount Merapi vaguely upstands and dead silence.