“Ephemeral Symbols” originates from a phone call and reflections on the transient nature of coordinates, time, and symbols.
discussing relationships, I happened to notice a sketch I had unconsciously drawn during the conversation.Surprisingly, these chaotic lines seemed to have the potential to become spatial sculptures. On one hand, I marveled at the magical potential behind these flat lines; on the other, I suddenly realized I seemed to process emotions like a rational machine—logical, orderly, deconstructing, analyzing. I was astonished by the internal transformation within me—this rationality seemed like a means of resistance and rejection.
As I observed the arrows on the sketch extending from a black dot to another square, it suddenly reminded me of the intense confusion I felt months ago when I got lost on the road. An arrow pointing "upward" on a two-dimensional plane points "toward the sky" in three-dimensional space, and a sign indicating a U-turn has an arrow pointing diagonally down to the ground? This causes great confusion—where exactly is it pointing? It seems their existence merely hints at a "forward" that we can never truly reach.
When symbols are discussed outside the context of roads, they lose their directional meaning. A forward symbol represents forward because the point where we stand define its front and back, entirely dependent on our position—but this direction is eternally changing and transient. An arrow can represent forward, backward, left, or right. But as subjective beings practicing this behavior, we are always in a stance of "approaching" (which can be said as moving forward), just like an arrow, entirely dependent on our method of positioning. Thus, the concept of time becomes undefinable; experience and change seem to be in a continuous process of generation, deconstruction, and reconstruction.
When situated in the cracks between the linear flow of physical time and the continuous overlay of uncertain spatial concepts, this mixed process produces many variations. Change itself becomes undiscussable and can only be observed. This includes the changes within me—driven to extremes by the desire for a certain state and dependence on intimacy. But when facing emotional fluctuations, I habitually use rational analysis and logical sorting to eliminate all emotional expressions, mechanically handling unstructured emotions like dealing with programs. It seems like a defense mechanism to prevent myself from collapsing, representing a strong desire for control. Just like fences and barriers in the city, representing isolation and territorial delineation; they also represent constructing a safe space that won’t lose control or deform in an unsafe environment. This gradually rational process seems solid but is actually shaky.
Just like time constantly being cycled and overlaid, generating obsession, generating fixation, and generating violence. In the process of increasing dependence and gradually exposing vulnerability, I try to seek a feasible way forward through repeated communication. Behind rational communication and objective debate, I realize there is a deep crisis—it brings me back to a moment in kindergarten. As a child, I had a very beloved mermaid album, but for some reason, I had to give it to another child. At that time, I chose to tear up the picture book—perhaps because of the shock brought by this destructive act itself, or perhaps out of the shock and shame when facing the inner anger and desire for possession, I always remember this story. But like thoughts on time, symbols, and coordinates, 20 years later, I suddenly realize time is an ever-fluctuating, overlaying "event." The process of human gradual change is not linear advancement but a constant generation, deconstruction, and return to the starting point. A part of me seems to have never disappeared.
Seemingly solid linear sculptures are like fences and barriers in urban spaces, but they seem full of loopholes, allowing any intrusion to happen. The metal structure, like spikes, faces the audience, baring its teeth in a menacing display. The seemingly constructed refuge space actually seems like a thin bubble you have to hold your breath to watch, breaking with a little force. The mermaid's tail, protruding from the hollow frame, droops dejectedly to the ground, divided into different parts, gray-white like the traces of salt left after seawater dries under sunlight, very desolate. It all seems like a lost or never-existent illusory garden—the divided mermaid is like the wreckage left after a great catastrophe, with an undercurrent of instability hidden behind the huge desire for destruction and possession. I seem to return to the problem of the jigsaw puzzle and the puzzle outline I have been contemplating.
The scattered manuscript lines are transformed into indestructible iron frames through bravado. Fences, barriers, and anti-homeless spikes in urban spaces are added to the sculptures, forming a rational and hard aggressive and confrontational posture. The soft white fabric inside the black steel frame becomes particularly glaring, suspended like an alien object. The pieces divided into small fragments hint at the end of a violent tsunami, the torn mermaid’s tail like the unfulfilled desire for possession and unplaceable anger in childhood memories—but all this is hidden in a strange calm and gentleness, everything appears hidden just right, only a little sad, a little lost, a little dejected…
