Tri Ngo is a visual artist based in chicago. he is a “painter painter” working to expand the materiality of painting. his work has a lot of body parts spewing about. arm here. leg there. sometimes heads roll around. he said it’s an exploration of space, the space between bodies and the space within body. or something like that… he does not believe his work to be poetic
and to the unfoldable distances within our shared constellation
to my mother,
it is a labyrinth that sieves the footprints of thoughts
a book
a body
shattered
wings
Scroll and Open
Trí Ngô
All rights reserved. c. – Tri Ngo
This site is being written. Between the shifting walls, contorted floor, and mislaid ceiling, its words may not reflect full actuality. Proceed with caution.
TABLE
OF CONTENTS
Ingress
Introduction
I hate art.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
One
Title or Something
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
Sub Title or Something
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it. 
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it. 
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate art. I hate art with a capital a. And i, certainly, hate art with a non-capitalized a. But yet, here i fucking am, bedding and whoring with it, legs spread between its spread legs; finding myself mangled in its deformed sideways orifice, bent over back, and inverted, yet somehow, always erect dick. I fucking hate it.