"Out-and-back" (返复如歌)
// BLURB //
A swing never truly chooses a side. It moves outward and returns, again and again, tracing the ancient logic of the pendulum. Out, and back. Departure, return. The body may call it play, but the motion itself feels philosophical; a small demonstration that movement does not always mean escape. For a brief moment at the highest point, everything pauses. Gravity hesitates. Breath catches. Then the arc begins again. Chinese philosophy has long understood life through such rhythms. The interplay of opposites, motion and stillness, ascent and descent, it’s not conflict but balance. One leans into the other, each giving shape to its counterpart. A swing cannot move forward without first pulling back. Momentum itself depends on return. Perhaps this is why the motion feels strangely comforting. It mirrors the way people move through memory, ambition, even love. We advance, retreat, reconsider, and begin again. Progress rarely travels in a straight line. The pendulum teaches quietly. What appears repetitive may actually be accumulation. The return is not failure; it is part of the rhythm. To sit on a swing is to briefly surrender to this wisdom, to trust that being carried back does not prevent us from moving forward, and that balance is often found in the space between the two.
A swing never truly chooses a side. It moves outward and returns, again and again, tracing the ancient logic of the pendulum. Out, and back. Departure, return. The body may call it play, but the motion itself feels philosophical; a small demonstration that movement does not always mean escape. For a brief moment at the highest point, everything pauses. Gravity hesitates. Breath catches. Then the arc begins again. Chinese philosophy has long understood life through such rhythms. The interplay of opposites, motion and stillness, ascent and descent, it’s not conflict but balance. One leans into the other, each giving shape to its counterpart. A swing cannot move forward without first pulling back. Momentum itself depends on return. Perhaps this is why the motion feels strangely comforting. It mirrors the way people move through memory, ambition, even love. We advance, retreat, reconsider, and begin again. Progress rarely travels in a straight line. The pendulum teaches quietly. What appears repetitive may actually be accumulation. The return is not failure; it is part of the rhythm. To sit on a swing is to briefly surrender to this wisdom, to trust that being carried back does not prevent us from moving forward, and that balance is often found in the space between the two.
EDITION, MEDIA, SIZE & WEIGHT
Unique Edition, Shanghai 2025
RGB LED display, Chinese ink on Vietnamese linen embedded in hand cast resin, teakwood frame
120(W)×120(H)×5.5(D) cm // 46 kg
CRATE SIZE & WEIGHT
132(W)×132(H)×21(D) cm // 86.9 kg
EXPOSURE
“Cyberfeminity” at island6 Shanghai
CREDITS
Yang Suer 杨素儿 (performance) • Shengqiu Li 李生秋 (calligraphy) • Helen Chen 陈韵涵 (art direction) • Thomas Charvériat (art direction) • Yeung Sin Ching 杨倩菁 (production supervisor) • Tiara Alvarado-Leon (blurb)
Unique Edition, Shanghai 2025
RGB LED display, Chinese ink on Vietnamese linen embedded in hand cast resin, teakwood frame
120(W)×120(H)×5.5(D) cm // 46 kg
CRATE SIZE & WEIGHT
132(W)×132(H)×21(D) cm // 86.9 kg
EXPOSURE
“Cyberfeminity” at island6 Shanghai
CREDITS
Yang Suer 杨素儿 (performance) • Shengqiu Li 李生秋 (calligraphy) • Helen Chen 陈韵涵 (art direction) • Thomas Charvériat (art direction) • Yeung Sin Ching 杨倩菁 (production supervisor) • Tiara Alvarado-Leon (blurb)
CLOSE-UPS
VIDEO
