Will the universe explode at the moment the ball falls into the hole?

2024

Sculpture, writing text

Will the universe explode at the moment the balls falls into the hole?
Will the universe explode at the moment the balls falls into the hole?
Will the universe explode at the moment the balls falls into the hole?

...

I keep asking myself this question, not knowing the answer

This piece begins with a mystical metaphor. Someone once likened my creative process to a game of tossing a ball—a square hole on the ground and a ball of equal diameter. A person continuously throws this ball toward the hole. The ball may hit the edge and bounce off, it may land perfectly but bounce out due to excessive force, or it may never land inside at all. Even if the ball successfully enters the hole, it can never perfectly fit due to the four square corners that always remain. It’s intriguing—no one knows when this person started doing this, when it will end, or why they are doing it. It all seems to have begun abruptly, without a discernible reason.

It's like a process of searching, yet the search does not point to any specific answer. Instead, it is about experiencing and pursuing the "process of searching" itself—like a repetitive act of self-punishment. Repetition, self-flagellation, desire, certainty. Repeating the wait for the moment the ball falls into the hole, repeating the search for an unknown "miracle" for no apparent reason.

So, in this work, I froze a nonexistent moment. At the top of a sculpture resembling building blocks, there is a hole. A ball comes flying from the horizon, falling into the hole along its trajectory. The moment the ball falls into the hole, it is like witnessing a firework explosion or the moment of the universe's explosion—the moment when the ball falls into the hole, it is as if witnessing the explosion of fireworks, or the moment of universal explosion—the moment when everything begins and ends. The trajectory of sparks and heat bursts from inside the sculpture, pulled outward by an invisible force. All light and heat seem to freeze at the moment of the fireworks' full bloom before they burn out—this is a frozen moment of fantasy, a miracle that exists only the last seconds before its end.

This piece originates from a metaphor that emerged during a conversation with a friend. In Term 1, I attempted to summarize and identify my research interest and the unique characteristics of my work that distinguish it from others - but I found it challenging to condense into just a few words.

At this point, an interesting metaphor arose. My friend told me that she felt I was always searching for something, but it seemed like I didn't actually want to find an answer - I was more engaged in the process of searching itself. Thus, I continually create various companions, whether human or object, in my work to find my own place and construct a territory and safe haven that belong solely to me. This process is like having a square hole and a round ball of the same diameter. A person persistently throws the ball into the hole, possibly never getting it in, possibly hitting the edges and bouncing off, but even if the ball does go in, it will never fit perfectly because there will always be four corners that can't be filled. No one knows why they are throwing, how long they will throw, when they started, or when they will stop. No one knows what will happen if the ball goes in. This person just keeps throwing.

This project started with that metaphor. In the first semester, I shot a video about this ball-throwing experiment. But that was just the beginning, and I continued to ponder this metaphor and its deeper meaning.
When I thought about the moment the ball fell into the hole, I connected it with Bas Jan Ader’s search for miracles. This reminded me of what Bas Jan Ader had always been searching for in his art, bringing to mind "I am too sad to tell you" and his final work before his disappearance: "In Search of the Miraculous."

Bas Jan Ader set out alone in his small boat, with immense and almost unattainable ambitions and desires, venturing into the ocean. The miracle he sought was to cross the ocean alone, and in the end, he disappeared into the sea. Almost without a trace but not unexpectedly - he disappeared. I once thought the beauty of Bas Jan Ader’s work lay in the unpredictability of the outcome and his sudden disappearance, but that night on the ferry, I suddenly understood that the greatness of his work was precisely that he knew he could not find the miracle.

The night sea was so turbulent, yet so calm. It was pitch black all around, no lights, no signals, no direction, no destination, no sound. Only an abyss of blackness, a silent but tumultuous blackness. It was a profound fear of the unknown. I suddenly realized that perhaps Bas Jan Ader knew the outcome he would eventually face before he began this work - he didn't want to find the miracle, but he believed that the miracle existed. He knew he couldn't find the miracle, yet he still chose to search for it.

So, for me, the ball and the hole took on another meaning. The moment the ball falls into the hole is like Bas Jan Ader's effort to find that miracle. It is also like the moment before a comet crashes - beautiful but signalling the end. So, in this work, I froze a nonexistent moment. I imagined the second when the ball finally fell into the hole. In my heart, it feels like the moment of the explosion - the moment everything begins and the moment everything ends. Sufficiently beautiful, equally tragic and fleeting. Therefore, there is a small hole above the sculpture, and you can see many exploding metal rods on its body, which are actually the trajectory of the explosion.

The sculpture itself is essentially a huge hole, abstracted into the shape of building blocks. It is a giant hole in space, much like the three-dimensional puzzle I keep contemplating. Ultimately, they are all about the process of constant compression, filling, offsetting, and generating in a space. For me, it is a game of filling contours.