delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous delirious_the_midnight_sun_is_gorgeous
心智迷乱, 午夜的太阳是绮丽的。(2012-2013)
影像记录
布面丝网印刷, 布面影像投影 (8'36" 循环), 钢材, 书 (名: 对一头鲸的描述)
一年级艺术创作硕士展, 27/02/13-09/03/13. 罗森伯格展馆, 纽约
 
被视为写作一部小说的规划工作, 这个项目是一个永远不会被写出来的故事的生命终点。通过对记录南极场景的档案材料的再观察和再想象, 这片象征意义上的浪漫土地抽象为在头脑中的一个纯粹的数学意义上的假想山水景观。借着对这独特并严峻的自然环境可能对人身体和心理上的改变的推测的支撑, 虚构的故事被建造出来。这壮美的让人头脑扭曲的山水诱发出人的疯狂和迷恋。也许那绮丽的极光 (源自拉丁词语 ‘日出’) 真的使人着迷并令人心智迷乱。在影像中, 通过对两个好莱坞关于二十世纪初南极远征的记录片 (与伯德在南极, 1930秘密土地:军事行动 ‘高跳,’ 1948) 的剪辑和字幕的写作, 一个新的去海王星远征的故事被编造出来。两部影片在形式和内容上的共性引出有关远征的本质, 叙事的本质, 和对他们的描述或记录的本质的问题。最无法想像的未来主义的也将变成现实, 随之过时, 最终成为小说。
 
   
the_description_of_a_whale the_description_of_a_whale the_description_of_a_whale the_description_of_a_whale the_description_of_a_whale the_description_of_a_whale the_description_of_a_whale
对一头鲸的描述
 
在这本书里, 图像重复地展示鲸浮出水面的一个姿态, 大多是跳窥, 一个出于好奇心和互动意向的行为。事实上, 摄于探险家理查德·伯德的第一和第二次次南极远征, 这些拍摄鲸探出水面的原始照片本身就记录了鲸与人相遇见的那些瞬间。在抹去部分文字的过程之前, 原始的文本编制于美国俄亥俄州立大学伯德极地研究中心档案项目中海军上将理查德·E·伯德论文注册的收集箱索引。文字描述与伯德相关的南极远征的档案胶片的内容和其物质特征。远征人员向长长的地面裂隙里看去, 人们在一架飞机的下挖雪, 乳胶上的刮痕和污垢, 胶带上冲压出的数字, 这些细节可能连贯地出现在一个段落里。文本为对鲸的沉思提供了一种背景感。
 
   
电子书版本可在这里免费获得 (PDF 1MB); 印本在纽约大学书店小说和诗歌区有售, 也可网上订购  
   
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Put the Cart Before the Horse (项目起始声明, 2012)

Last Wednesday morning, I went to Central Park for a carriage ride. According to my plan, my conversation with the driver would become my statement, but unfortunately, the driver said he had a sore throat and didn’t want to talk. The horse walked at the same pace for the whole 50 minutes. She must be familiar with the park; it was her all-day walk. There was lots of greenery in the park, I wondered whether she still paid attention to it when this part of the landscape of the City was probably what she liked, while she had been walking the same route and seeing the same scenes for years. For me, it was rather strange to see horses in this city, like seeing penguins. They didn’t fit into the background. I wished they could walk different paces and be wild again. Run down Fifth Avenue and leap into the ocean.
        Penguins aren’t as agile. They don’t leap into the ocean, but instead find low-lying places close to water and glide into it on their bellies. But then, it is their kingdom. Although I find this rather encouraging and consoling, I don’t feel like a penguin. I feel like a desert toad, or even a cactus. A desert toad doesn’t move until necessary, for hunting or avoiding predators. The problem is I neither hunt nor have predators. A desert toad does this to save water, I do this to save ice blocks, or, I merely feel slow.
        Maybe my work here yet is looking outside of the window everyday for a few hours. Everything is static. Only at night, the turning on and off of lights and the occasional appearances of human beings at their windows are the movements. Disregarding all the structures that are housing people, it’s fun to imagine them scattered in space without an awareness of height. Standing in a hotel room on the 98th floor feels just the same as standing on the ground. And going from A to B isn’t A to B, but going down the building first and up another later. At night, the farther the lights are, the more they look blinking, like stars. If all the lights were off, none of the buildings would be visible. It would be total blackness in front of me, a total blankness and total unknown. And what if all the stars were off? Not a big difference, there was already too little in the sky I could see.
        Here, for four months, perpetual daylight shines upon the total whiteness, another form of blankness. You don’t see any thing but a color, a vast white. The distinction between background and foreground vanishes, and it’s easy to lose one’s sense of distance and location. The background is no longer material but a color. Everything becomes graphic and slightly ridiculous. It creates a horror similar to screaming that is silent. The environment becomes mathematical; people feel they are having an experience in virtual space, where their body can’t be hurt. It is so unreal that it can hardly be taken seriously. Frostbites, numbness, vertigo, hunger, they only work as nitrous oxide and lead to psychotic laugher that can last as long as the perpetually hanging sun.
        With this air of self-indulgence, the grand journey starts. The sun doesn’t set, and people quickly lose track of the passage of time and forget the division of days. They are inexplicably agitated and stay up as much as their body can withstand. Memory loss and distortion follows. It’s easy to be infatuated in one thing and turn it into a hobby. Accordingly, people take on different jobs. Some become radio operators transmitting signals to families of seals laying in front of them; some become obsessive land surveyors carrying a tripod and disappear into the distance step by step; some become ice block huggers; some become full-time whale observers. People are engaged in separate things within the same field, yet nobody talks to one another. They could be so close as back to back, but they are so far as coast to coast. It looks like a silent revelry or collective farce. They are true individualists.
        Ideal workers most of these people would be considered. With a positive attitude, without distractions, they work. There is also a small portion of non-workers. Some choose to hibernate and wake up as a set of skin-covered skeletons. Some choose to be frozen underground and perhaps awoken when discovered by future explorers, or when everything melts away.
        Oh I remember that evening, such a beautiful woman on the subway distracted me from drowsiness. There is no woman here. No sex, no posterity, destined eternal death. Dogs, airplanes, bays, mountains, people tend to give everything a female name. But not long after, these repeatedly used names lose their symbolic reference to the feminine. No sex, no posterity, destined eternal death. They are true individualists.
        With many activities happening under the sun, it is always a prosperous scenery. Whatever not white is alien to this land. For this reason, people are conspicuous against the background, and gradually they start to notice how each posture of their body is a posture. They don’t exactly see themselves as in mirrors, but they know how their body would look like against the white ground. This mental mirror is omnipresent all the time, so people are constantly seeing themselves. Not only do they individually develop a whole set of self-satisfying postures, but they also create a complete mirroring imagery of themselves, their virtual company. In this situation, I am not certain whether they are true individualists. They are, because they are narcissistic and only need a virtual company that is essentially themselves; they are not, because they have a company.
        Walking out from the Rubin Museum, I thought I would see no cityscape, but the Himalayas, but in fact, I loved walking on the damp sidewalk after rain at night. I could see the city in its reflections without raising my head. What I love is no longer the rain, but the damp sidewalk after the rain. I am a traitor. New York is different from Tibet, and Tibet is different from Antarctica. I might not want to go to Tibet or Antarctica, but I would listen to the stories from people who did.
        “No downtown bound train stopping at 8th St, please take an uptown train to Union Square and transfer to a downtown bound train,” says the loudspeaker.
        “Sorry I swiped in on the other side. Can you let me in?”
        “Orr”
        “What?”
        “Tro”
        “Cross?”
        “The gro.”
        “I Go?”
        “The grorr!”
        “What did you say?”
        “I said the dorr!!”
        “Oh, the door! Thanks.”
        Fuck me.
        Okay, let me listen to the old busking man playing his guitar for a bit.

 
   
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