“I know the secret of steamed rolls,” the letter read.

There are convoluted, bewildering little things everywhere. We are situated in different places, but perhaps can try to chart them at the same time.

Can we unleash our imaginations further on the basis of such a relationship, in critical ways?

Some sort of correlation and pattern rippled through their orchestrations: perhaps a yearned-for, not-yet-attained object, or some pursued, forgotten object, which greatly exceeded the scope and expectations of the individual.

No era is ever too good for art, and none too bad.

We’re connected by crafting out a shared space.

In the process of recognizing instead of knowing, a discrepancy always exists and, in some cases, are never reclaimed.

The presence of the body becomes a variable in a given place, allowing the real encounters to take place—even today, when technological media can realize actual functions with virtual objects, bodily feelings can still illuminate the relationship between human beings and the others, which is what we should see through the lens of technology.

Every self-organizated community needs to confront the tasks of mutual aid and care with urgency. Overwhelmed by structural stress and anxiety, abstract beliefs alone can no longer generate heartfelt connections among us.

How can performance art, which is essentially an ephemeral occurrence, negotiate with the extensive temporality of nuclear catastrophe and the fragility of traumatic memories?

A series of utterly ordinary things – a bulge on the trunk of a wutong tree, rubber gloves hanging from the handlebar of an electric scooter, a waterproof jacket on a washing line, some ethereal glimmers on the fencing around a construction site—that nonetheless inspire a certain uncanny feeling inside us.

Although deliberate confusion of time implies something too nostalgic for digestion, it calls out a suppressed desire for the ghostly echo of the “past” ringing in “now” and “future.” It also renders various derivative points about being sarcastic with the objects to prefer nature to culture, ornament to function, instinct for death to drive for life, and sex drive to intellectual drive—being pared down to a new cycle of extraction, fermentation, condensation, and transpiration.

By imagining a “nether world” that is also euipped with economic, political and cultural aesthetic systems, the plea of the artist that “the netherworld should break away from all the domination from the world of the livings” has its relevance winding in our realities.

Zian Chen called exhibitions that give Chinese Contemporary Art look-backs in variation as Instant Retrospectives, which applies Hauntology theory to uncover substitutions between what happened in the past and what is possible in the future, in an attempt to articulate a rebellion against a linear time within contemporary art.

The framework of the fictional space encompassing Kafka, Natalia Goncharova, Mikhail Bulgakov and Marina Tsvetaeva among many others overlaps with the sphere of the canvas, which simultaneously tells a story without words.

A bit hard to imagine, but also oddly convincing—thinking through the state of quarantine and isolation ultimately brings us to fewer “selves” and more “others.” In a present moment where each of us is increasingly tired of the myriad disruptions to our ways of life, perhaps it is these relative distances, inexorable and inexplicable, that reveal the state of a world continuously splitting apart, and reforming itself.

Geocinema’s research reflects both the architecture and infrastructure behind this network, which to it constitutes a decentralized moving-image apparatus. It also engages with the intersection between corporations and governments that feed into and extract from this widely dispersed network of footage. In addition to the political implications of surveillance—from an individual, global, and astronomical perspective—it is also interested in how this vast constellation of visual, auditory, and geographic data is increasingly utilized to predict the future.

Screen bodies exist only to be penetrated—yeah, that makes everyone female, and that’s why they are, and rightfully should be, fucking afraid of us.  

As life was disrupted by the COVID-19 pandemic, Sammi Liu, owner of Tabula Rasa Gallery, and artist aaajiao (Xu Wenkai) have been stranded in London and Berlin respectively. Author Danielle Shang who lives in Los Angeles and curator Weng Xiaoyu at the Guggenheim Museum in New York have hunkered down for nearly a year, unable…

Artist, educator, writer, activist, and co-founder of Black Lives Matter Patrisse Cullors discusses the history of BLM, the prejudice against the movement, the deep trauma wound represented by the Trump regime, and how these issues are embedded in her artistic and pedagogic practices.