中間內容區塊
We Always Need to Create New Stories for the World
2025/01/18 - 2025/12/21

About the Place

“Lightness”

The glass-and-steel structure of the TFAM South Entrance reveals a dichotomy between transparency and thick solidity. Even though the structure itself is only an extension of the main TFAM building and gives off a feeling of “lightness,” this lightness is symbolically meaningful. As a passageway to the main museum, the South Entrance expresses the subtle flow of time, allowing for a “lightness” that is particularly abundant. Connecting to that edifice, with its concrete presence of both variation and stability, this passageway alters people’s roles to that of randomly changing materiality, and with each tiny change, the things in front of our eyes become light. This adds much imagery of lightness: white space, flowing time, flowing events, and silent air. Is this place enchanted? Is it intertwined with many threads of exploration?

“Newness”

Following this line of thought led to fantasies of creating a space encompassing all things: Imagine two corridors opposing each other, one black and the other white. And this spatial form gives shape to a discourse: The first corridor is as white as a cloud, seemingly weightless, as if the solidity of the space has evaporated. The black corridor at the other end looks at the world we live in from a different perspective and with a different logic—it is concerned with the reality of the present and the future... We always need to create new stories for the world, and there are always new pathways waiting for us to explore. In them, the perceptions that direct us toward everything new are perceptions of the material world, but through the installation of scenarios, we attempt to connect to those things that are limitlessly tiny, light, and motile.

“Pathways”

The black and white spaces can interpret many pathways. They are porous and open to the outside. And surprisingly, they can accommodate everyone’s desires and every impetuous, divergent viewpoint. If there is a pathway into a rational mental space, it is here that you can explore the interlocking straight lines, the projection of sunlight, shapes, and spatial vectors. Another pathway moves through spaces formed by scenes, and through written words it attempts to create a space that equals the sum of the expressible and the ineffable. These two pathways project the true reality of both the natural world and the imaginary world. We constantly switch back and forth between these two pathways, telling of all the things here, all the desires one can long for, and much intermingling information is always contained within.

“Time and Space”

“As there is a geometry in space, so there is a psychology in time.” In Swann’s Way, the first volume of Marcel Proust’s renowned In Search of Lost Time, memory and imagination penetrate each other and merge.1 Space is a tangible shell, and if we apply its material force to abstract time, we become aware that we are hiding in a certain corner, roaming through a certain time, drifting somewhere between memory and imagination. We like to conceal ourselves in the material forms present in every inch and to measure time, whether it is clamorous or silent: The powerful aroma of books and coffee floating in from the distance, the slow flow of music, the sense of quiet serenity exuded by green plants, the fleetingly feathery sense of lightness, the deliberately paradoxical combination of blackness and precise light—these all may express how our rational thinking is entangled with place...

The South Entrance is a place that is hard to define, but it can be precisely divided into two dimensions: It is a tangible, physical space, and it is also a vehicle for any and every abstract thing, presenting the perceptible level of things. We are attempting to endow this space with the subtlest of elements, such as the weight of things, the measurement of the space, real sensoriality, intellectual contemplation, form and sensation, refining these elements until the purity of the place itself emerges. I think that place implies transcending the definitions imposed by functionalism. That is why the content of the works is ultimately inseparable from the meaning of each element in this space. For example, the moment when sunlight, rain, and wind merge through the large glass window could not be more real. They make this space concrete and radiate a sensuality all their own. Here, they have their own appearance at every moment. Perhaps it is the appearance of other spaces? Each scene is a prologue, and if you miss it, you enter another chapter of the story.

One can say that the surrounding environment is part of an artwork. This “spirit of place” is revealed in the whole structure of the work, and it has both a subjective and an objective side. If you imagine installing an artwork in a place centered on spirit, this is an extremely crucial detail. As people’s relationships with other people, the environment, and the events that take place around them are presented with greater subtlety, each composition will be endowed with greater meaning. In short, we treat the place as something that can influence artworks and is also open to the outside. Importantly, this may mean that it is illusory or incomprehensible, instead of real and understandable.

About the Space

Now, I must turn to the question of the space: When the trend of interdisciplinary engagement shatters the spatial function of the exhibition space as a space for the display of objects, what kind of unique space replaces it? The reason why the South Entrance has a magical quality and is impervious to the limitations of space lies in its status as a gray zone that can be extended: Its lightness is full of life and muscularity. The infinite room for imagination that the space itself gives us, those special qualities arising from the pure sense of place, highlight the relationship between physical space and psychological space. 

In a 2007 article, Iwona Blazwick, then director of Whitechapel Art Gallery in London, expressed her view of what an exhibition space must be: “at once a permeable web, a black box, a white cube, a temple, a laboratory, a situation.”2 Art historian Claire Bishop interprets such exhibitions (and dance exhibitions in particular) as “gray zones,” which exist because of performance and are a historical fusion of the “black box” of experimental theater and the “white cube” of the art museum. She observes: “One of the characteristics of the gray zone is social media: smartphones are an integral part of spectatorship, in part because the dance exhibition emerged (and flourished) at precisely the same moment that our lives became dominated by ubiquitous portable technology…”3

Not unlike the description of place I have attempted to make, the South Entrance embodies a space that rejects precise definitions. In our minds it presents itself as a space that is permeable and that permeates us. Here, we allow the collision of creativity and imagination to fill us with contentment and ease. In this context, the exhibition taking place here has a theme, but it is more like an organism: It transmits and translates the works, the place they relate to, and their materiality, something akin to “generation.” Therefore, it also implies propagation and change, existing in an “incomplete” and “ongoing” state. All these subtle “non-ordinary” conditions and different materials are waiting for us to grasp their subtle emanations with our eyes, ears and other senses.

About the Works

As a result, according to this understanding of “place,” we have arranged two spaces, one black and one white, as the narrative structure of the exhibition, and we have confirmed two works to be included in it: Chen Hui-Chiao’s ping-pong ball series and an immersive installation incorporating the environment, by Clockwork Noses. Within the white space, Chen Hui-Chiao will use colors to convey things of a purely cognitive quality, allowing the place to reveal its “lightness.” And within the black space, Clockwork Noses will make use of images, artificial light, and natural light leaking in through the cracks to reveal discourses that lie implicit within what they tangibly execute. The working title of the exhibition, “We Always Need to Create New Stories for the World,” is an attempt to invoke a pure intellectuality and also a pure sensoriality. These two orientations are diametrically opposite in philosophical outlook, yet unexpectedly, they form a certain metaphysical dialogue.

And yet up to this point, these statements remain abstract. What have I been talking about? What are the subjects that I imagine? What do I intend to depict? Have I changed my direction? All in all, everything is still at the stage of unconstrained statements, aiming to prove what I naively hope to be true: that the viewer, in all they perceive and see, will be conscious that they themselves can incite or alter a situation and that they can act autonomously.

About Dopamine

I am able to clearly state the so-called theme of the exhibition, or more precisely, what discourses it seeks to put into practice. In the beginning, I expressed an idea, a desire, an image regarding the space, and after forming a connection between this discourse and the statements they described, I began to look outward to see how these statements have been used before: What could I discover through them? When they form a compositional analysis of a statement of place or an emphasis on place, what do they require of the works? What must be excluded? The problem was not that I doubted the formation of such statements, but during this process it was necessary to raise specific questions about inherent limitations, such as the building, space and environment. Thus, we inevitably found it necessary to apply reverse analysis. Reverse analysis is to put forward a number of propositions to think outwardly about the definition of the text and the propositions themselves, and to discover them one by one at semantic, logical and psychological levels.

When researching these statements, “uncertainty” and “limitlessness” constantly surfaced and cross-referenced each other. This led to the concept of unlimited extension, looking at things from a viewpoint similar to infinite perspective, which I found fascinating and exciting. But things that are uncertain and vague and defy precise or clear conceptualization can also exert their own kind of power, making people feel pained or bemused. However, here I do not wish to discuss transformation at an individual psychological level; instead, I want to talk about dopamine.

“From the perspective of dopamine…Desire is the spark that ignites our motivation and propels us forward.”4 Perhaps desire is the force that drives us to make exhibitions. It lies latent and manifests itself in expression, cognition, and imagination, and this is what makes it addictive. Scientists say that dopamine is the chemical in the human brain that makes people feel happy; it is a neurotransmitter that sends signals to nerve synapses. When people eat delicious food or hear a song they like, dopamine is produced and makes them feel happy. Dopamine is part of the brain’s reward system. When people receive encouragement or positive feedback for their efforts, their dopamine levels rise, making them feel happy, and this experience is addictive. This is why we are motivated to overcome difficulties and keep moving forward.

The cells that produce dopamine make up only 0.0005% of the brain, but it is this tiny group of cells that we use to explore the world. Dopamine gives us our identities: hedonists, drug addicts, incurable romantics, artists… Whether it is pursuing more in life to gain more rewards, making thoughtful choices, maximizing the things we think are wonderful, or humanity’s god-like power to create true and beautiful things, this is the work of dopamine. Dopamine is a little symphonic conductor, transmitting signals, whether they are good or bad. 

At the South Entrance of TFAM, we connect our essential selves to the dopamine pathways. We can look up at the sky outside, smell the air, savor what is in front of us, or casually pass through the real world immersed in a world of fantasy… There our world can become a paradise of self-intoxication, driving our creativity and imagination. But we could also be striving in vain, just letting our desires run wild, wanting more, while everything keeps ceaselessly spinning. I seek to make an exhibition that would drive all of our perceptions. Quickly, our dopamine pathways will tell us to appreciate the realities right before our eyes, to enjoy their infinite complexity, to enjoy what we have. This is the best thing there has ever been.

 

1. Writing in the first person, Proust creates a unique personal world. The book consists of seven volumes. In the 1st volume, Swann’s Way, all his deeply buried perceptions and memories resurface like a dream, as he recalls the sleepless nights of his childhood in Combray.

2. Iwona Blazwick, “Temple / White Cube / Laboratory,” What Makes a Great Exhibition?, 2007, pp. 118-133, University of Chicago Press.

3. Claire Bishop, “Black Box, White Cube, Gray Zone: Dance Exhibitions and Audience Attention,” The Drama Review, Volume 62, Number 2, Summer 2018 (T238), pp. 22-42, MIT Press.

4. Daniel Z. Lieberman and Michael E. Long, The Molecule of More, BenBella Books, 2018.