Still Entering : Jiǒng
2021/4/14, 21
Immersive promenade theatre |
Live performance, incense, rice, scent,
Two-channel video
Co-create by |
朱正淮
朱育婕
胡書萍
段慧琳
許彤
張子恩
陳侑兒
陳冠丞
黄千搴
歐溢函
蕭瑛茲
蘇月華
《迥／隱現》以「生、老、病、死」四個階段構築一場沈浸式遊走劇場，將台北萬華的現地經驗與生命交織於流動的城市邊界。觀眾在多重空間與時間場域中穿梭，成為主動的「過門者」——經歷身體、感知與記憶在都市空間與萬華真實交錯下的人生四苦。
作品持續追問「進入」：作為身體、記憶與城市之間的關係式動詞。萬華作為台北最具滲透力的都市敘事現場，集結了宗教、性產業、無家者與觀光客等城市治理無法完全收編的主體。人與人、欲望與規訓、神聖與世俗在此交疊，但同時彼此疏離。
空間裡的表演身體反覆行經同一條路徑，宛如無限循環的儀式，指向萬華生活裡那種不得不重複的日常，每一次重複都內含差異與位移，日常舉動與身體痕跡在空間裡重新生成新的意義。城市的閾限成為游牧式的路徑，每個人都被動員在「進入／排除」、「群體／個體」、「內部／外部」的多重流動中。
重複並不僅僅是集體的凝聚，相反地，它往往反映出一種集體性的缺席──共同體總是在形成而永遠未完成，在不斷的重複裡召喚尚未抵達的我們。在這裡，場內的氣味、現成物與投影影像共同構築這種同在卻不可歸屬的狀態：個體在眾聲喧嘩、重複行走、氣味與觸覺的氛圍中，經驗著在邊界徘徊的實存處境、進退、近疏。這樣的場域強迫觀眾質疑自身在城市權力地景中的位置：你是觀者、參與者，還是無名的邊界餘民？
《迥／隱現》召喚觀者直面城市治理下的「異質」、「裸命」與「游牧」處境，在現場身體游移、感官重構與語言中斷中，不斷試探和生成新的共在與邊界倫理。
隨筆摘錄：
作品持續追問「進入」：作為身體、記憶與城市之間的關係式動詞。萬華作為台北最具滲透力的都市敘事現場，集結了宗教、性產業、無家者與觀光客等城市治理無法完全收編的主體。人與人、欲望與規訓、神聖與世俗在此交疊，但同時彼此疏離。
空間裡的表演身體反覆行經同一條路徑，宛如無限循環的儀式，指向萬華生活裡那種不得不重複的日常，每一次重複都內含差異與位移，日常舉動與身體痕跡在空間裡重新生成新的意義。城市的閾限成為游牧式的路徑，每個人都被動員在「進入／排除」、「群體／個體」、「內部／外部」的多重流動中。
重複並不僅僅是集體的凝聚，相反地，它往往反映出一種集體性的缺席──共同體總是在形成而永遠未完成，在不斷的重複裡召喚尚未抵達的我們。在這裡，場內的氣味、現成物與投影影像共同構築這種同在卻不可歸屬的狀態：個體在眾聲喧嘩、重複行走、氣味與觸覺的氛圍中，經驗著在邊界徘徊的實存處境、進退、近疏。這樣的場域強迫觀眾質疑自身在城市權力地景中的位置：你是觀者、參與者，還是無名的邊界餘民？
《迥／隱現》召喚觀者直面城市治理下的「異質」、「裸命」與「游牧」處境，在現場身體游移、感官重構與語言中斷中，不斷試探和生成新的共在與邊界倫理。
隨筆摘錄：
〈你說這裡是燕子的天空，要他一飛再飛〉
今天在台北車站命搭火車，運經過熟悉命的一切，運站在永遠的命那裡，我知道運那裡剛好是命車門開運的地方，我站在命那裡三年了，整整運三年。看著命眼前的風景，有一種運感覺反芻命運出現，命一種哀弔，我想到運自己的那三年，真正命的三年，運不只命三的三運年，想到命自己重生無數次運，命誕生運的孩子，想到命無數的黑運，無數命運交融，那是命一種哀運弔，對過去如此命珍貴的哀運弔，我想命起她文字裡運出現的葬禮。
那是一場無命人運的葬禮
看到命拿著運自己照片站在鐵軌上
那是一張黑命白運照片
燕命子歸巢，休運憩的鳥
你們知道是運死了還是運死了嗎？
Still Entering: Jiǒng is constructed as an immersive promenade theatre, structured around the four stages of birth, aging, sickness, and death, weaving together lived experience in Taipei’s Wanhua district and the porous boundaries of urban life. Audience members traverse multiple spaces and temporalities, becoming active “threshold crossers”—their bodies, sensations, and memories passing through the intersection of personal experience and the realities of Wanhua, encountering the four fundamental sufferings of human existence.
This work is a continual inquiry into what it means “to enter”—an active verb for the relationships between body, memory, and city. Wanhua, as one of Taipei’s most permeable urban narratives, brings together religious devotees, sex workers, the unhoused, and tourists—subjects who resist the city’s efforts at governance and assimilation. Here, people and people, desire and discipline, the sacred and the secular, overlap and collide—yet remain deeply estranged.
Within the performance space, bodies retrace the same paths in ritualistic, endless repetition—mirroring Wanhua’s daily routines that must be performed over and over. Each repetition contains difference and displacement; ordinary gestures and bodily traces regenerate new meanings within space. The city’s liminality becomes a nomadic trajectory, mobilizing everyone in multiple flows of entering/exclusion, group/individual, inside/outside.
Repetition is not simply a force for collective cohesion; on the contrary, it often reveals the absence of collectivity—community is always in the process of formation, yet never finished, calling forth an “us” that has not yet arrived. Here, scent, found objects, and projected images collectively build a sense of presence without belonging: individuals, amid a cacophony of voices, repeated movement, smell, and tactile atmospheres, experience the existential condition of lingering at the border—advancing, retreating, drawing near, withdrawing. This environment compels the audience to question their own position in the city’s landscape of power: Are you a spectator, a participant, or an anonymous denizen of the margins?
Still Entering calls audiences to confront the “heterogeneous,” the “bare life,” and the “nomadic” conditions under urban governance—constantly probing and generating new forms of being-together and new ethics of the threshold through bodily migration, sensory re-composition, and linguistic rupture.
Excerpt from Notes:
This work is a continual inquiry into what it means “to enter”—an active verb for the relationships between body, memory, and city. Wanhua, as one of Taipei’s most permeable urban narratives, brings together religious devotees, sex workers, the unhoused, and tourists—subjects who resist the city’s efforts at governance and assimilation. Here, people and people, desire and discipline, the sacred and the secular, overlap and collide—yet remain deeply estranged.
Within the performance space, bodies retrace the same paths in ritualistic, endless repetition—mirroring Wanhua’s daily routines that must be performed over and over. Each repetition contains difference and displacement; ordinary gestures and bodily traces regenerate new meanings within space. The city’s liminality becomes a nomadic trajectory, mobilizing everyone in multiple flows of entering/exclusion, group/individual, inside/outside.
Repetition is not simply a force for collective cohesion; on the contrary, it often reveals the absence of collectivity—community is always in the process of formation, yet never finished, calling forth an “us” that has not yet arrived. Here, scent, found objects, and projected images collectively build a sense of presence without belonging: individuals, amid a cacophony of voices, repeated movement, smell, and tactile atmospheres, experience the existential condition of lingering at the border—advancing, retreating, drawing near, withdrawing. This environment compels the audience to question their own position in the city’s landscape of power: Are you a spectator, a participant, or an anonymous denizen of the margins?
Still Entering calls audiences to confront the “heterogeneous,” the “bare life,” and the “nomadic” conditions under urban governance—constantly probing and generating new forms of being-together and new ethics of the threshold through bodily migration, sensory re-composition, and linguistic rupture.
Excerpt from Notes:
命 (ming) - destiny／運 (yun) - fate
You said this is the sky for swallows, so they can yun and yun again.
Today at Taipei Main Station, ming took a train, yun passing through everything familiar to ming, yun standing where forever’s ming is, I know yun is exactly where the door of ming opens. I stood at ming for three years, three whole yun years. Staring at the scenery in front of ming, there’s a kind of yun feeling, regurgitating ming’s appearance, ming—a kind of elegy. I thought of my own three years, truly ming’s three years, yun not just three yun’s three ming years, thought of ming myself being reborn countless yun times, ming giving birth yun to a child, thought of ming’s countless black yun, countless ming and yun mingling, that’s ming—a kind of yun elegy, a precious yun elegy for all that ming in the past, I recall the funeral yun that appeared in her writing.
That was a funeral of a person without ming and yun.
Seeing ming holding yun’s own photo standing on the railway track.
That was a black ming white yun photo.
The swallow ming returns to the nest, a bird that rests in yun.
Do you know if it’s yun that died or ming that died?
Jiǒng (still) 1/11
Jiǒng (still) 2/11
Jiǒng (still) 3/11
Jiǒng (still) 4/11
Jiǒng (still) 5/11
installation view 6/11
installation view 7/11
installation view 8/11
installation view 9/11
installation view 10/11
Jiǒng (poster) 6/11