// BLURB //
When I smell burning plastic, I think of my great grandmother Wu’s garden. When I hear a dog barking, I think of the Queen of England. When I see the work of Ai WeiWei, I think of the Aix galericulata. From where to these associations come? How can one singular sensory experience launch you into stories of a nostalgic past life scene straight out of a Hitchcock, or maybe a Jia Zhangke? What does red give to you? What did it give to the Tang dynasty? What did it give to Wang Wei, other than emotions that only poetry could capture? Red gives me calm, it puts me at peace. The experts all say that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, that I’m sick for feeling the way that I feel. But I don’t care. I’m an aix galericulata, flying above and looking down at all the people arranging themselves like written characters, hoping that they can one day find the strength to disarrange themselves completely and go back to that Zhuangzian state of small states. Hoping that Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself floats from the Universal ether and into the skulls of live men. Hoping that I can keep hoping.
When I smell burning plastic, I think of my great grandmother Wu’s garden. When I hear a dog barking, I think of the Queen of England. When I see the work of Ai WeiWei, I think of the Aix galericulata. From where to these associations come? How can one singular sensory experience launch you into stories of a nostalgic past life scene straight out of a Hitchcock, or maybe a Jia Zhangke? What does red give to you? What did it give to the Tang dynasty? What did it give to Wang Wei, other than emotions that only poetry could capture? Red gives me calm, it puts me at peace. The experts all say that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, that I’m sick for feeling the way that I feel. But I don’t care. I’m an aix galericulata, flying above and looking down at all the people arranging themselves like written characters, hoping that they can one day find the strength to disarrange themselves completely and go back to that Zhuangzian state of small states. Hoping that Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself floats from the Universal ether and into the skulls of live men. Hoping that I can keep hoping.
// STATUS //
Available. Please CONTACT US for inquiries.
Available. Please CONTACT US for inquiries.
// EDITION, MEDIA, SIZE & WEIGHT //
Unique Edition, Shanghai 2019
Chinese ink and acrylic painting on canvas, teakwood frame
205.6(W)×146(H)×6.5(D) cm // 18 kg (framed)
// EXPOSURE //
• “Perimeters, Edges, and Walls” at island6 Shanghai Main Space
Unique Edition, Shanghai 2019
Chinese ink and acrylic painting on canvas, teakwood frame
205.6(W)×146(H)×6.5(D) cm // 18 kg (framed)
// EXPOSURE //
• “Perimeters, Edges, and Walls” at island6 Shanghai Main Space
// CREDITS //
Owen 欧文 (painting) • Thomas Charvériat (art direction) • Yeung Sin Ching 杨倩菁 (production supervisor) • Carlin Reinig (blurb)
Owen 欧文 (painting) • Thomas Charvériat (art direction) • Yeung Sin Ching 杨倩菁 (production supervisor) • Carlin Reinig (blurb)