Shh…
Welcome to the Cave of the Night, where shadows unveil the personal memories, fragile balance of power, and unseen forces. We have prepared a list of private notes from artists for you. As you navigate the cave, let your body guide you freely. Imagine that you have tentacles. Think you are in a cave that responds to you. If things feel out of touch or lack of meaning, remember that’s ok. That’s part of the night stroll.
Kindly approach the cave with curiosity and care.
photo by Hao Zeng
Floating Landscape
Bonan Li:
I would collect lotus leaves and observe them as they slowly withered in my childhood. The natural essence they embodied, infused with the vastness of the universe, evoked a sense of timelessness. By observing the decay of the lotus leaves, I came to deeply experience the connection between myself, nature, and the world. However, in repeatedly attempting to interpret a withered lotus leaf through the lens of human culture and society, I often overlooked a certain strangeness, an unfamiliar, unassimilable sense of solid presence—something that resisted integration into the lived environment.
This inherent “rootedness” of natural objects in the world—their presence and the dimension of being—often pushed me beyond the confines of my understanding of the world, compelling me to explore, with heightened curiosity, the unperceived reality of the world’s domain—a realm full of cracks, voids, and chaotic “nothingness.” As I matured and experienced the death of loved ones, I was confronted with death as a constant presence within the continuum of life, akin to the true nature of the world’s domain. This realm presented itself as an absolute void, filled with cracks and ruptures in the continuity of existence. These experiences profoundly impacted me, awakening within a desire to express this state of void, the blank fissures in the fabric of life, and the presence of death that flows through the gaps of the living world.
photo by Hao Zeng, Jingyi Zhu
Lethe: Beyond the Forgetting
Bowen Li:
Growing up, I was struck by the pungent smells of industrial materials and medical equipment. These scents are more than sensory memories; they signify our immersion in broader infrastructural networks. These networks subtly guide our movements, shape our choices, and dictate our ways of living. The oil tanker disaster made me confront their fragility and unpredictability; they offer convenience yet harbor the potential for disaster. In this fragile, chaotic world, the only constant that can transcend time and space is our emotional bond—our ability to connect with the world in the present.
Lethe, the river of forgetting in Greek mythology, flows through the underworld, offering a choice: drink from its waters and let go of all past memories. Yet, Lethe is not just about forgetting; it represents an intentional act—a selective unbinding from the past, a force to deconstruct and reimagine existing narratives. Forgetting, in this sense, isn’t a passive loss but an active process—a way to transcend the constraints of linear time and reconstruct our relationship with the world. In my work, I embrace “forgetting” as a central theme, not to erase memory, but to move beyond singular narratives and linear causality. Forgetting is not an absence but a means of deconstruction and reassembly, allowing us to see experiences from new, uncharted perspectives.
I want my audience to immerse themselves in a system where they feel the elasticity of human bodies and spirits, and the profound power of kinship. Inspired by the recent oil tanker event and its investigations into the public impact, my focus shifts from regulation and blame to a deeper reflection on the infrastructures that underpin our lives—a vast, intertwined network that shapes our mobility, economy, culture, and even our sensory experience. These systems, once established, do not merely support us; they also challenge and reshape themselves through the interventions and disruptions they encounter. I seek to visualize this ongoing process of transformation and feedback.
Customized Biorhythm
Gumi Lu:
photo by Gumi Lu
Gumi Lu:
photo by Gumi Lu
Such human intervention selectively eliminates species unable to synchronize with these new rhythms, leaving behind only the successfully entrained varieties. In this new phase of ‘survival of the fittest,’ technology, as an extension and augmentation of natural evolution, systematically generates intelligent new species capable of confronting future environmental challenges, thereby reconstructing the network of ecological dependencies.
Throughout this process, plants develop their own antibodies, and their intrinsic mystery and unpredictability lead to technological failures and loss of control. This dynamic creates a mutual infringement between technology, nature, and living organisms, reinforcing and co-constructing a redefined reality.
Reflecting on my work, I drew a parallel between the plight of plants in this era and the human experience during the COVID-19 pandemic. At the height of the pandemic, the surge in patients overwhelmed hospitals and healthcare systems, pushing resources far beyond their limits. This meant that each patient received only limited medical attention.
Those with more complex conditions or who were requiring special care were often left without adequate diagnosis or timely treatment. In such a critical situation, it became nearly impossible to calmly listen to the individual experiences of each patient, as society’s focus shifted entirely to curbing the alarming crisis. The entire social system functioned with the goal of minimizing the collective loss.Similarly, when faced with extreme environmental crises, the magnitude of disasters can eclipse the rationality of policymakers. The priority becomes restoring the overall ecological system, and in the process, the agency of individual plants as autonomous life forms and their capacity for self-realization within ecosystems are sacrificed.
Human responsibility toward nature, the recognition of the intrinsic value of non-human life, and respect for plant rights are ideological stances. However, the complexity of human behavior lies in the fact that actions often fail to align with these ideals.
When confronted with the ethical dilemmas posed by biotechnological interventions in nature, and our own existential struggles for survival, perhaps humanity may never be capable of devising a perfect plan. Only in those critical moments—when we, as human beings, are forced to make decisive choices—will we truly come to understand, “Who am I?”
By assigning tiers, plants are commodified like NFTs, with artificial scarcity being manufactured. For example, the fast-growing Pinus massoniana, used to restore damaged and degraded lands, is engineered into foot soldiers of the ecosystem, while the less cost-effective Sophora japonica, incapable of supporting the ecosystem, is elevated to the status of a high-class lady.
Plants are placed within a market-driven and transactional context, where they are selected and judged based on their perceived rarity. Ironically, this “rarity” is constructed around their so-called “natural state,” a state that emerges from minimal human interference. Their power is defined through intervention and negation, yet it is tied to humanity’s ethical and moral awareness of nature.
In the post-pandemic era, human health and survival are increasingly subject to the frameworks of technological systems and scientific interventions. Vaccination became the primary tool for humanity to combat the virus. Yet, those who remained unvaccinated began to possess a sense of “unmodified/untouched” rarity and purity. In particular, among some anti-vaccine groups, this moral and natural aura is amplified, as if their bodies had not been altered by technology, retaining a certain “pristine” state.
This constructed narrative of purity highlights how symbolic reverence was attributed to unvaccinated bodies through human design and control, transforming them into a vehicle for power and value. This elevation of certain bodies over others exacerbates inequalities—not only between humans and the natural world but also between different groups of people. In such a world, rarity becomes a marker of worth. But should we not question whether something must be rare to be deserving of respect and attention? Or does this fixation on scarcity distort our understanding of value altogether?
Gumi Lu:
In primitive times, the spearhead was not only a weapon but also a symbol of human control. It conquered beasts and secured food. The pursuit of power, along with this spear, became ingrained in human genes, serving as a proxy for rationality and a sense of security. People took pride in its sharpness and power. Yet, whenever it was used, the spear was immediately entangled in the dynamics of power—giving and receiving. To harm was to be harmed. To oppress was to be oppressed. In the end, the spear’s power faded, leaving behind a dragging tail.
I realized that when one’s heart is filled with self-protection or guardedness, even external forces that are benign or harmless can be perceived as threats or attacks—just as an inner shield can turn everything into a “spear.” Its presence creates temporary relationships with its surroundings. Even when it seems overwhelmingly powerful at a given moment, it is inevitably worn down through the interaction with reality, slowly eroded over the course of the conflict.All of this happens in the “black box.” While people may notice the resistance from the copper pillar, they often overlook that the sharp object causing harm is already within them. It is internalized within their cultural and social values, compelling them to act on its behalf.
photo by Gumi Lu
photo by Gumi Lu
Gumi Lu:
I used 3D-printed polylactic acid to simulate wood carving in this dark, solid, and frozen piece, representing the survival state of temporary art workers in narrow, unstable social spaces. Like the three of us—Bonan, Bowen, and me—we’re working in the U.S. on limited-term visas, navigating forces beyond our control, like the flow of water. In places unseen by mainstream media, three ghosts in a sewer sustain intermittent signals through outlets in the walls. If you’re fortunate enough to read this, it means we’ve successfully made the connection and, despite these conditions, continue to move forward while preserving our identities.