Lin
Orange Hour
2025 / 5' 15
Train spinning, tree rotating, oranges falling, window breathing, kids playing, and you are passing by
Digital projection, cardboard, orange peels, Taiwanese, Mandarin, English, paper clips, brass paper fasteners, grommets, wood, plastic
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0
I write in
Mandarin, and I read it out
in English;
without using Taiwanese, you will
never understand.
1
Listening to the sound of mandarins falling to the ground, vibration,
a passenger picks up the phone saying Hello? 喂?你lí叨位tó-uī找tshuē?
Listening to the sound of mandarins falling to the ground, vibration,
a passenger picks up the phone saying Hello? 喂?你lí叨位tó-uī找tshuē?
2
Different angles leave different imprints, marking various surfaces with distinct impressions. A broken pen. A weak pen. In the tension between control and being controlled, it struggles to write, express, and depict with all its might; every mark is a maybe, because it is a pen that only sometimes works. Between certainty and uncertainty, it searches for the possibility of connecting dots to dots, lines to lines, surfaces to surfaces, languages to languages before they dissolve or break apart. Even on an invisible ink surface, no one can say for certain that no trace has been left behind.
3
The pull chain switch is too short. Don’t want light. But to see the shadow, one must reach for the pull chain of a hanging light. Trying so hard but can’t reach it, with only a small space between the outstretched hand and the dangling thread.
Document Photo by Eugene I-Peng Tang / Video by Yun Lee