My Feelings About Naming Untitled

The Margin Called Untitled

There is a certain temptation in the word "Untitled." It is not unfinished, nor is it abandoned; it is simply a state where no name has been given. Whether it is a painting, a poem, or a file, people often call it "Untitled," leaving behind only the traces of having started something before walking away.

This act does not seem like negligence, but rather like sincerity. It is too early to give it words. I do not want to force a meaning upon it. Or perhaps it is the fear that the moment I name it, the object will become something else. Untitled is a place where such feelings accumulate.

The Domination of Names

Names are convenient. They make things easier to call, organize, and share. But at the same time, the moment you name something, its contours become fixed. Things that were vague, fluid, and swaying are treated as "this is what it is" with just a single label of words.

I sometimes feel hesitant to name my work. I cannot let go of the possibility that something might still change. A faint sense of resistance toward having the meaning set in stone. Even so, if I do not give it a name, I lose sight of its existence myself. So, I name it. And every time I do, I feel a little hurt.

To Avoid Leaving Untitled Behind

Among the files lined up on my desktop, there are some that remain named "Untitled." Every time I open them, feelings or thoughts that stopped somewhere along the way come back to life. I can no longer remember the impulse of that moment. But those things that exist there without a name carry an air of not yet being finished.

The act of naming is similar to bringing something to an end. It is like putting a period on something incomplete and confirming, "This is what it was." The fear of that, and the ritual necessary to move forward despite it—I am always swaying between the two.

Naming Feelings

Human emotions are also often Untitled. Anger, sadness, joy—the more inexpressible an emotion is, the more certainly it exists, yet it remains trapped inside, unable to be brought out. And as time passes, I even lose track of what it was.

That is why I sometimes give my feelings temporary names. Names like "a little silence" or "yesterday's shadow"—names that do not carry too much meaning. By naming them, I pull those emotions toward me for just a moment. It is no guarantee that they will remain in my hands, but I think it is better than letting them disappear.

Words for Naming

What kind of name should I give to something that was Untitled? When I decide that, I want to use words not as tools, but as gifts. I place the words not as something appropriate for the object, but as something I can offer from my heart in that moment.

It does not have to be accurate. It can have too much or too little. I simply give it a name as a trace that I looked at it. I feel that this act makes the contours of my emotions slightly brighter.

Untitled says nothing. That is precisely why, when I cast words toward it, I am forced to face myself. The feelings I have when naming are always swaying, yet they are certainly there.