Françoise

I want to go to Fuzhou, I haven't been there before. Upon arrival, I want to pass through its post-war texture, women's league dependents' houses, Typhoon Georgette, Taipei Paper Factory, urban-rural transformation, northward migration, industrial settlements..., I want to walk in Fuzhou, then go to Taipei National University of the Arts to see the exhibition, planning to arrive no later than 4:30 pm because the exhibition area closes at 5 pm

The artist told me to take the MRT to Fuzhong, then take bus 271, 952, or Blue 37. It was drizzling when I got off at Fuzhong, I didn't see the sign nearby and didn't ask her as she's not good at geography and just returned to the country. I decided to go in the direction of County Citizen Boulevard (there is a right turn at some point with a bridge over Nanzi Creek). I saw the 952 bus stop in front of the first building on Xiguan Qianxi Road. I got on, but it went on an overpass. I was in the air, and Fuzhou passed beneath me in an instant.

There were few passengers in the car, and there was a long-haired woman on the right. Miss. I called twice, she took off her headphones, surprised that someone was talking. I said: Excuse me, where does this bus go? What happened? I took the wrong bus. She smiled and replied: Nankan, where were you originally going? I'm going to Taipei National University of the Arts in Fuzhou. She laughed again, asked me to get off after the interchange, then take the original bus back to Banqiao from the opposite bus stop.

Love at first sight is inevitably related to many temporal and spatial dislocations, lost is, embarrassed is, and a smile is as well. I want to go with her, we might fall in love, study, work. We will move, reproduce, nurture. We will live, argue, reconcile. We will have a house, a house that must accommodate the everyday, accommodate melancholy, and also accommodate grief. I didn't go with her.

When I arrived in Fuzhou, it was already night. I got off at Daguang Elementary School, walked in through the back door of Taipei National University of the Arts, and on one side of the school ground, the abandoned former dependents' houses were now transformed into exhibition spaces, with only one of the row houses still brightly lit. I entered and heard voices.

What are you saying? When you are scared, lonely, raining, panicked, parting, dusk, dying, what do you say in the house? What words do you leave for an empty house that still lights up?

The sound came out of several 4F installations on the wall. I couldn't understand the language, the words were like a melodic murmur, repetitive, repetitive, I only knew that the words were sad, I only knew that the words were devout, I only knew in these sounds in such a place and an empty house, they gathered densely like this, it was terrifying. Terrifying, like the segment of life we lost, like returning home with excitement, pushing open the door, but the person is gone forever.

Entering again (the original bedroom), all black, a wall projected with white characters, the central English translation of the French monologue. Like a philosophical or bodily or religious fragment of text, no, it is the introspection, definition, and dialogue with oneself, because of the projection, the echoing sound, and the brain's misinterpretation, it should be the discourse, but it is broken into poetic lines for me, like this:

A qui je parle? Who am I talking to? On ne se donne pas le pardon à soi-même, without which - I didn't know - I will continue to suffocate. Incommensurable tendresse, each word, each action, C’est le chemin que je trace dans la nuit, Nous, mortels, Nous n’avons pas le pouvoir de connaître, de savoir, Et de construire toute notre vie autour de ça, Chaque fois que je rencontre quelqu’un, Je lui parle.

"If I meet someone, I talk to him." I repeated in my mind. Then the image of the speaker jumped out, thinking it was a still photo with a long gaze, but in the end, the old woman seemed to blink.

I don't know, if I read it in a gallery space (which must be zero impurities), the outer "The Other" and the inner "One Thought" will organize into what kind of work. The outside sound is like a homogeneous portrait background, and the sound is framed into an exhibit; the sound and image inside tell a story, and finally, a person appears, and then the person flashes. "The Other" and "One Thought" are another piece of work, from the outside to the inside, like spreading the two dimensions into four dimensions, and it's like folding all into one.

I turned back and saw the signed book. I have been here. I read the introduction to the artwork, quoting a passage from Xia Yu's poem and an art interpretation. In that Hebrew or German or Dutch between languages I don't know, some voices say,

"I want to live carefree." One voice says, "I want to see Dad again." On a floating island in an island, in a journey, I want to see her again.

I never understood why there was this 952 bus route, but since it happened, this is the irreversible artist's instruction when I read the artwork."