Displacement = 0
From Prague to Taipei, the journey of transfer was never only geographical. The body itself became a vessel, carrying shifts in temperature, texture, and memory. Tram wires dividing the sky, glass containers in shop windows—unrelated images that, through repetition and recollection, became entangled. When water froze and cracked the glass, “fracture” emerged not as accident but as the trace of difference. Even as ice melted and water disappeared, the fissures remained—an invisible distance, fermenting still in the space of exhibition.
An Exercise on Autumn｜2023｜leaves, flowers, feathers, white adhesive clay｜site-specific
Autumn 2022, Prague
During my days in Prague, translucent leaves became my daily companions.
An entire window in my room faced a tall tree. With each stirring of the wind, leaves, petals, or feathers would drift gently to the ground.
I gathered these fallen fragments and affixed them, one by one, to the glass with white museum putty, placing them with the care of mounting specimens. The leaves here were thinner, lighter than in Taiwan, and sunlight could pass through them completely. I often lingered in long gazes, with only one thought echoing in my mind: everything is time.
The tree outside my dwelling revealed the shape of time through the quiet turn of seasons.
I tried to catch all that fell from its branches—leaves, petals, feathers—keeping them within the bounds of this framed span of life and space. Each was carefully flattened against the window, arranged like a specimen. The traces of white putty carried a deliberate gesture, as if to pretend that time had never passed.
（A Corner of the Dwelling）
City, Transference, and Its Vessel (six pieces) | 2023
Temperature difference, glass, lemon slices, masking tape, ceramic｜23 × 23 cm, 7 × 7 × 12 cm
Gazing at the cables, the divisions, the sky, the pigeons, the houses, the windows, the glass, the containers.
Closing my eyes, recalling once more:
cables, divisions, sky, containers, pigeons, houses, divisions, containers.
With each return, certain parts shift in their own way.
The city’s memory is traced through tram wires and glass containers—images once unrelated, yet intertwined through recollection and alteration. “Fracture” marks the entry of memory, while “temperature difference” conceals it. In the subzero winter, water froze and cracked the glass, a gesture of shifting the cityscape into the presence of objects.
(Works After Packing and Sculpture Studio II)
Fracture,
Fracture, thought,
Fracture, thought, connection,
Fracture, thought, connection, hair,
Fracture, thought, connection, hair, fracture,
Fracture, thought, connection, hair, fracture, route, connection.
In a temporary dwelling, all that has fallen becomes especially pronounced.
I gathered strands of hair scattered around the room, placing them one by one onto A4 sheets, then photocopying them— from few to many, from old to new. The accumulated sheets formed a gray tone of lines, their density and dispersal reshaping the image. With a pen, I linked the broken lines across the edges of the papers, carrying out the task like a game, a mission—until the moment arrived to stop, and the work was complete.
2022.9.24–2023.5.20 | 2023｜glass, ballpoint pen, digital print from video, colored ｜70 × 38 × 1 cm
Sound of Shell #0 ｜2023 ｜box, lotion, music player, Christmas lights｜dimensions variable
