On the way home, Wanderer
2024
「回家⋯⋯是一場穿越他異的過程。」
《回家的路上》是一件探索「家的條件」的雙頻道錄像作品，
採用行為錄像、逐格動畫、聲音劇本與物質輸出形式，編織聲音、記憶與身體感於一條看似單純卻無法抵達的歸途上。思考在無家性中，家的生成條件如何被顯影與組織：在記憶的斷裂中、在聲音的殘響裡、在風中掀動的紙頁之間。
起點是一座拆除的火車站——我日復一日通勤七年的場所，如今被迫改變。於是，我開始用影像記下那些看似不會消失的風景，也回望與母親一次關於聲音與記憶的談話，試圖清點那些從未被正式存檔的語氣與對話。
影像分為三段敘事：無家、回家、遊牧。從無家者、火車站的拆遷廢墟、通勤軌道、拔草尋找地板的行動、家庭物件的劇場、逐格呈現的家人臉孔與父親的露營車，交錯出記憶的地景。所有影像皆以逐格的邏輯製作，再被輸出為紙本，最終成為在展場中被風吹動的紙面裝置，干擾視覺的線性穩定，召喚影像的物質性與記憶的層疊，圍繞出一處暫時可棲的場所。
如德勒茲所述，副歌是一種在混亂中圈出秩序的重複性儀式，透過在水中朗誦聲音文本，語言經由氣泡破裂的阻礙、濾波與殘響而產生變形。人如何共同生活又保有自己的節奏？這段聲音不僅模擬關係在回憶中被浸濕與辭不達意的狀態，也共同構成一種「協商中的家庭聲景。」
同時，本作亦提出一個關於「家」尺度的多重問題。從身體開始，向外延展：皮膚作為內與外的邊界，房屋作為親密空間的容器，城市成為節奏與陌異的接面，國族或星球則是意識與想像投射的疆界。對「回家」的追尋，實則揭示的是對「理解世界」的渴望。家是一種空間感，也是語言的殘響，是地理與感覺的共構，是可被搬遷、被記憶、被傷害也被再造的地方。
《回家的路上》試圖將觀者帶入一場關於「如何使家得以生成」的經驗。它不再被視為一個可歸返的原點，而是一場穿越時間與物質、陌生與轉譯才得以生成的游牧性節奏。而這場行動，正在路上。
馬丁·海德格
《回家的路上》是一件探索「家的條件」的雙頻道錄像作品，
採用行為錄像、逐格動畫、聲音劇本與物質輸出形式，編織聲音、記憶與身體感於一條看似單純卻無法抵達的歸途上。思考在無家性中，家的生成條件如何被顯影與組織：在記憶的斷裂中、在聲音的殘響裡、在風中掀動的紙頁之間。
起點是一座拆除的火車站——我日復一日通勤七年的場所，如今被迫改變。於是，我開始用影像記下那些看似不會消失的風景，也回望與母親一次關於聲音與記憶的談話，試圖清點那些從未被正式存檔的語氣與對話。
影像分為三段敘事：無家、回家、遊牧。從無家者、火車站的拆遷廢墟、通勤軌道、拔草尋找地板的行動、家庭物件的劇場、逐格呈現的家人臉孔與父親的露營車，交錯出記憶的地景。所有影像皆以逐格的邏輯製作，再被輸出為紙本，最終成為在展場中被風吹動的紙面裝置，干擾視覺的線性穩定，召喚影像的物質性與記憶的層疊，圍繞出一處暫時可棲的場所。
如德勒茲所述，副歌是一種在混亂中圈出秩序的重複性儀式，透過在水中朗誦聲音文本，語言經由氣泡破裂的阻礙、濾波與殘響而產生變形。人如何共同生活又保有自己的節奏？這段聲音不僅模擬關係在回憶中被浸濕與辭不達意的狀態，也共同構成一種「協商中的家庭聲景。」
同時，本作亦提出一個關於「家」尺度的多重問題。從身體開始，向外延展：皮膚作為內與外的邊界，房屋作為親密空間的容器，城市成為節奏與陌異的接面，國族或星球則是意識與想像投射的疆界。對「回家」的追尋，實則揭示的是對「理解世界」的渴望。家是一種空間感，也是語言的殘響，是地理與感覺的共構，是可被搬遷、被記憶、被傷害也被再造的地方。
《回家的路上》試圖將觀者帶入一場關於「如何使家得以生成」的經驗。它不再被視為一個可歸返的原點，而是一場穿越時間與物質、陌生與轉譯才得以生成的游牧性節奏。而這場行動，正在路上。
—Martin Heidegger
On the Way Home is a two-channel video installation that explores the conditions under which “home” might come into being. Combining performative footage, stop-motion animation, scripted sound, and material outputs, the work weaves memory, bodily presence, and fractured voice into a seemingly simple, yet ultimately unarrivable act of returning. It reflects on how the condition of un-homeliness gives rise to the possibility of home—through disruptions of memory, echoes of speech, and sheets of image-paper lifted by passing air.
The journey begins at a now-demolished train station—my commuting hub for seven years, recently erased. The rupture prompted me to document what once felt permanent: landscapes that resist disappearance, fragments of speech shared with my mother about how sound and memory intertwine. I began to catalog voices and inflections never officially archived, searching for a map made of tone and cadence.
The narrative unfolds across three movements: houselessness, returning, and nomadism. Through portraits of the houseless, the ruins of the station, daily train rides, acts of weeding to unearth a lost floor, and a domestic theater of family objects—including stop-motion transitions of familial faces and my father’s camper van—the work constructs a fragmented cartography of memory. Every image is rendered in stop-motion logic, printed onto paper, and rephotographed. In the installation, these images are physically affixed to the wall and activated by wind, disrupting visual continuity and animating a material encounter with memory’s layered temporality.
As Gilles Deleuze writes, the refrain is a ritual repetition that carves out a zone of order within chaos. In this work, the refrain takes sonic form through a script spoken underwater, where words emerge filtered and broken by bubbles and breath. What does it mean to live together, yet preserve one's own rhythm? This soundscape gestures toward the blurred edges of family memory—wet, inarticulate, negotiated. It becomes not a stable narrative, but a shared acoustic terrain, vibrating with asynchronous modes of being-together.
The piece also raises the question of scale in the notion of home. Home begins with the body, extending outward: the skin as a porous boundary, the house as a container of intimacy, the city as a site of unfamiliar rhythms, the nation or planet as the imagined projection of dwelling. The desire to return home is, in truth, a desire to make sense of the world. Home is not merely a place—it is a spatial condition, an echo of language, a co-construction of geography and affect. It can be displaced, remembered, damaged, and remade.
On the Way Home invites the viewer into a process rather than a destination: a meditation on how home might be made, not where it resides. No longer a point of origin to which one returns, home emerges as a nomadic rhythm—formed through temporal crossings, material contingencies, and the translation of strangeness into shared space. And this rhythm is still on its way.
installation view 1/31
installation view 2/31
installation view 3/31
installation view 4/31
stop-motion materials 13/31
stop-motion materials 14/31
installation view 20/31
installation view 21/31
installation view 22/31
installation view 23/31
installation view 24/31
installation view 25/31
installation view 26/31
installation view 27/31
installation view 28/31
installation view 29/31
installation view 30/31
installation view 31/31