Surveillance today extends from the physical world to our mobile devices. Digital technology such as ChatGPT and Sora, weaving texts and videos from a vast sea of sources, promises a new world of algorithmic rationality. Will human beings be excluded from knowledge? Must we learn to think like machines? Algorithmic rationality may create barriers between people instead of uniting them. Can we instead use emotion as a vehicle for silent communications and bonds, a basis for new communities? These questions have become central to many artists, who focus on the emotional foundations of everyday life as starting points for their art.
In his exhibition, Soft Breath, Trevor Yeung developed a new botanical-rhetorical vocabulary. At the center of the gallery space, he placed a reclining oak tree trunk made of soap, not only symbolizing local wishing trees collapsing under the weight of numerous wishes but also referring to the London gay cruising scene where a trunk is bent close to the ground at waist height, making it ideal for people to lie on. Human intervention has shaped the trunk: frequent sexual behaviors from visitors have polished parts of its bark to a smooth finish. This trunk embodies human desire, serving as a monument to the most secret emotions and human interactions. In the corner of the room, plastic flowers grow from a power socket, subtly glowing. Desire emerges through cracks at the margins, making its presence felt metaphorically in a Chinese context where queerness is difficult to discuss in public.
Confronting the pandemic and its aftermath, what we need is not a series of paintings depicting healthcare workers or odes to anti-epidemic policies, but reminders of how to perceive and process the immensity of loss and how to carry on our human existence amidst the flood of melancholy and homesickness.
At the end of 2022 and the beginning of 2023 when Beijing was gradually recovering from the lockdown, He Chi staged a solo exhibition, Former Residence, at the Diplomatic Residence Compound exhibition space. He conducted an “archaeological excavation” of the apartment walls, revealing layers of history beneath the white plaster. Could the red walls beneath the white paint reflect a style favored by Mexican diplomats for interior decoration? Could the blue wall paintings deeper below be from the Mediterranean region? After extensive excavations, a series of maps with no specific geographical reference emerged.
The white dust scraped off the walls was spread by He Chi over the surfaces of the apartment—tables, chairs, windowsills, handrails, sinks, refrigerators, and more—making it seem like an abandoned residence. This evokes memories of the early days of the pandemic in China, when diplomats hurriedly fled with a few belongings, leaving their homes behind. Entering the exhibition feels like stepping into a room silently awaiting its occupants’ return. His installation functioned as an entity with agency, stirring the viewer’s feelings and calling for the reconstruction of normal life.
The overabundance of technological rationality gives rise to a return to sensibility. Emotional expression in art awakens active perception and rumination. Michele Chu’s exhibition You, Trickling was dedicated to mourning her mother’s anticipated death. Here, Chu transformed mementos and banal discards of life into tangible representations of her complicated emotions. During her residency in London, she explored how a series of food-related actions in mourning rituals made grief visible, tasteable, and processable, facilitating moments of human connection. Emotions do not signify personal vulnerability but serve as a passage, encapsulating latent collective strength.
The expression of emotions in art also transcends geographical boundaries, reaching distant audiences. The Brooklyn-based artist Chris Oh’s artworks, while quoting Northern Renaissance paintings, strip away their religious narratives, leaving only the image of pearl-like tears sliding down faces painted on seashells and rocks. Displayed at Capsule gallery in Shanghai in 2023, in a dark gallery space subtitled “Mourning,” Oh’s images inspired Chinese viewers with a strong sense of grief, recalling how the present preserves memories of the past and inspiring ideas for possible futures.
Youyou Wang is an art historian and Beijing-based curator of public practice.
© The Brooklyn Rail
