THESE FACES utilizes the vast canvas of the internet to paint stories, experiences, and thoughts across diverse landscapes. My works resonates with the intricate dance of human connection and expression, drawing inspiration from the limitless horizons offered by digital platforms.
The exploration lies on the influence of the internet as a conduit for communication and empathy. As a multimedia artist deeply rooted in the scene of Hong Kong and an ever-shrinking world, storytelling and showing emerge as powerful forces. It transcends boundaries of geography and culture, offer the possibility to look into collective soul. Through the creations, I aim to shed light on the diverse methods individuals employ to navigate the complexities of human experience in the digital era.
Viewers will come across raw and uncanny elements without direct interaction. Despite the exhibition comes with stories and essays to match each piece, the audience is free to get in touch in their own feeling, distancing from the implied contradictions. This virtual environment offers a stark contrast to the physical collections of sculptures, representing the authenticity found in both the tangible world and the digital realm.
In a world often marred by division and discord, my work aims show unity and compassion. Through the fusion of art and technology, I seek to spark a transformative dialogue that transcends borders, fostering a sense of shared humanity.
Back in high school, friendship and crushes were a messy mix. I had this friend whom I met at a schoolmate party. We
quickly became close after one night, chatting away until the sunrise. We spent even more time together in the following
months.
It all started innocently enough, with some flirty banter and lingering looks. We never said if we were seeing each other; things were vague. This ambiguity excited me, “what if we are more than friends? ”, but yet we almost seem to not want to break this friendship, not me or him ever stepped up to clarify.
But soon, our hours of hanging out got shortened, then days. Then he started disappearing acts on WhatsApp. One minute
we’d be chatting, and the next, there’d be silence for a day or two. Drove me nuts. Like, what was he doing that was so important he couldn’t reply? I became obsessed, checking his online status like it was my job. Constantly talking to my friends analyzing his every act.
I found an app that promised to track his every move online. I felt like I was on a rollercoaster; every login, every time I
saw him online, assumed that he read my message, but no reply —it was like a punch in the gut.
One time, I swear I saw him on the street. Heart pounding, I thought, “There he is!” But as I got closer, it wasn’t him. Just
some random dude. That’s when it hit me. I had let my obsession control me, turning me into someone I didn’t recognize.
So, I did the easy way out: I backed off and we drifted apart. I learned a hard lesson.
Spy eyes, always watching, lurking in my subconscious. The more you dig, the more you crave control. But in the end, you’re the one being controlled.
The act of touching noses, “nose to nose,” has consistently intrigued me. This simple yet intimate gesture stands out for its purity and sincerity, gives a unique perspective on human connection.
Mouth-to-mouth kiss can symbolize both love and lust, the nose-to-nose gesture feels refreshingly innocent. There’s a certain vulnerability in this act, an unspoken trust. When we touch noses, we engage in a form of intimacy that is tender and authentic. It’s a moment of mutual acknowledgment, a gentle exchange that says, “I see you, I feel you,” without the weight of expectation.
For me, nose-to-nose contact represents a form of connection that is free from ulterior motives. It’s an act that resonates with the core of human connection—simple, honest, and pure. This gesture, seen in various cultural greetings and expressions of affection, evokes a sense of closeness that is untainted by the layers of desire and passion a kiss might imply. It feels more like an unfiltered exchange of breath and being, a way of sharing space that is profoundly human.
At a party, I met a guy from a joint school event, and that’s when it happened—my very first kiss. Instead of the romantic moment I had imagined, it turned into a teeth-bumping fiasco.
I was so confused and embarrassed that after the party, I couldn’t help but ask my classmates if teeth bumping was normal during a kiss. Well, let’s just say their reaction—bursting into laughter—didn’t exactly boost my confidence.
Feeling utterly mortified, I turned to the internet for answers, only to discover that my awkward experience was indeed a textbook example of a bad kiss.
Dear Ma and Pa,
I’ve been meaning to share something with you, something that’s been weighing on my heart. It’s about the way I struggle to express care and affection, especially when it comes to our interactions. There’s this peculiar dance we do, where your words flow effortlessly, but for me, translating them into actions feels like navigating a maze.
I confess, I harbor a fear of stirring up emotions in you, fearing that if you were to open up and tear up in front of me, I might feel uncertain about how to handle it. It’s a paradox—I want to connect with you, yet I find myself stumbling over the simplest gestures. It’s not that I don’t care; it’s just that I haven’t found the right words or actions to convey it.
Perhaps it’s the innate authority parents hold that leaves me feeling unsure how to respond when your demeanor softens. It’s a vulnerability I struggle to navigate, leaving me feeling awkward and uncertain.
So I wanted to apologize. Not because our relationship is distant or strained, but because I’ve kept these feelings bottled up inside. I want you to know that despite my shortcomings in expressing it, my love for you is unwavering.
With love,
Jennifer
Let me tell you a story that might challenge your beliefs and perspectives. It’s about my childhood helper—a tale that some might interpret as involving sexual abuse, but to me at the time, it holds a different significance.
At the age of 4, I was innocent and curious when it all began. My helper called me into her room with a warm smile, promising to teach me something special. As I stood there, she leaned in and kissed me on the mouth with tongue , explaining that it was a way to express love when you grow up.
We practiced a few times, but it just felt unfamiliar to me. Looking back now, with societal implications in mind, it is like telling me to feel uncomfortable.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve had discussions with loved ones who question our interactions, seeing them in a different light. They believe I should feel violated, but I don’t. Of course, if someone told me this story about other child, I would believe the child was abused. However, as the “victim” myself, it was just a fleeting moment in a childhood filled with innocence.
I was comfortable where I was, cozy in my routine, content to let life pass me by without rocking the boat. But there was a part of me that felt I was wasting my life, pouring my heart into working on someone else’s gig, losing myself in becoming a small cog in a machine. Finally, I’m stepping out of that comfort zone. Right now, it’s tough as hell, but I feel more alive.
I’m juggling freelance 3D design, teaching swimming, and pouring my heart into art projects and making music equipment. There are days when I question everything, when the fear of failure threatens to consume me.
But I know that even if things don’t work out the way I planned, even if I fall flat on my face, I’ll still have learned something valuable along the way. And hey, worst case scenario, I’ll pick myself up and move on to the next thing.
So, here’s to stepping out of our comfort zones, to embracing the unknown, and trying to live life with no regrets.
The Illusion of Forced Community: A Personal Reflection
Growing up in a society that incessantly preaches the importance of community, I’ve often found myself grappling with the notion that we must always be connected. The pressure to fit into a specific group or community seems ingrained in the very fabric of our social structure, leaving little room for individuality or solitude. It’s as if the mantra “you will eventually find your community” is relentlessly drilled into our minds from an early age, leaving little room for deviation.
I understand the significance of community, especially in the context of governance and nation-building. A united country thrives on the cohesion and solidarity of its people, each finding their place within the larger societal framework. However, what troubles me is the implicit message that suggests it’s not okay to be alone, to chart your own path without the safety net of a predefined community.
As someone who was born in Canada and raised in Hong Kong, I’ve often felt like a cultural nomad, straddling the line between two worlds. In 2019, amidst the political turmoil engulfing Hong Kong, my identity became a source of frustration. I found myself silenced by the pervasive notion that I wasn’t a “full” Hong Konger, that my voice didn’t carry the same weight because of my upbringing.
This realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. Why should my sense of belonging or worth be determined by the confines of a community that I may or may not fit into? Why must I be pigeonholed into a specific identity or group, stifling my individuality and unique perspective?
Forced communalism, I’ve come to realize, breeds division and discord rather than unity. It creates an environment where conformity is valued over authenticity, where dissenting voices are silenced in favor of maintaining the status quo. It’s a suffocating notion that leaves little room for growth or self-discovery.
I believe it’s okay to be alone. It’s okay to carve out your own path, to embrace your individuality without the pressure to conform to societal norms. True community should be built on acceptance and inclusivity, not coercion or exclusion.