wekopressure

Grass dictionary vol2

Operating House

Grass dictionary explores the representation of time in a format where the traditional flowis disrupted, reflecting our segmented yet continuous reality.
It offers multiple reading trajectories. The reader can traverse from one side to anotheror open both sides simultaneously for a parallel reading experience, where images andtexts juxtapose to form a narrative diptych, From one side, the temporal journey begins atthe crack of dawn and transitions into the evening. As the reader reaches the midpoint,the narrative shifts from nightfall on one side to the morning light on the other. Thediscontinuous nature of time and the non-linear narrative mirror our daily state of being aswell as the nature of history itself.

The concept of architecture and health has always been closely linked. Vitruvius, in his Ten Books on Architecture, detailed how to plan the Healthiness of a proposed site. In modernism, architects used white cubes, dry rooms, light, and circulating air as antidotes to urban diseases. After 1960s, architecture evolved beyond merely preventing disease as a medical device and began to offer psychological comfort. Various mobile vehicles, bubbles, and tents were invented, partly to escape toxic cities and anxiety disorders. The development of medicine and industry introduced an increasing array of new technologies and theories, such as rational circulation, operation manuals, negative pressure passageways, filtered air systems, seamless aseptic facade, and automatically triggered devices, while human knowledge and fear of uncleanliness also grew. This project stems from the tension between human knowledge of cleanliness and uncleanliness. I attempt to place this tension in an extreme situation to observe changes in behavior patterns, spatial preference and mental states under such conditions. Thus, I created this fictional story about a surgeon who developed severe mysophobia - a fear of contamination - after a surgery. Refusing to return to his original home, he transformed an operating room into his living space, repurposing medical devices originally used for surgeries to serve daily functions like cooking, bathing, and sleeping. The story ends with a slightly absurd and humorous twist, hinting at the madness and irrationality that can lie behind extreme science and knowledge.

13 Diary

Ça va?

This series of moving images offer a documentation of one of my 14-day mandatory self-isolation in Beijing due to the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic. During that time, I yearned to produce a visual diary against a multitude of challenging physical and psychological demands in my life. The intensity of that visceral experience is reflected here in my exploration to discover a unique vocabulary each day, for each vignette, experimenting with text, image, and sound.

Heroin

House of Terror

This little comic was inspired by a song of the same name by Velvet Underground, which describe the psychological state of a person indulging in the pleasant self-abandonment of drugs.
The story resonated deeply with me, and I decided to transform the song into an experimental comic. Is the structure of the text itself spatial? Is it possible to express words and sounds in a language that belongs to a three-dimensional world? This is the question that I want to explore in this project. I have restored the story by setting up the pyramid, the room, the starry sky and the boat on the ocean in several spatial acts. Each page unfolds in two square composite frames. The story keeps circling in a rotating gravity and vertigo：A person continuously perishes on a meaningless road, and his failures are but repetitive video games he plays. Until he looks outside the window and sees the departsalong with the city, he vanishes into the water eternally.

A surveyor sees a distant column and approaches it. It belongs to a factory with a high, dark ceiling and sides lit with harsh light. The column reveals broken stones, black concrete, rebar and sand. Curious, the surveyor climbs it and at a high point, sees its rarely viewed cross-section, reflecting the seldom-seen parts of the factory itself. He reaches into the column, discovering a dark, thick liquid inside.
The structure is infiltrated with toxic substances. He understands that to minimize further pollution, all he could do is to preserve the building as is. The surveyor peers down at his palms and sees an aerial view: the entirety of the building's landscape. The silhouette of the factory resembles a church, with its east-west nave and slender tower. The surveyor embraces it, like a figure in a painting, presenting the latest equipment to the pope. He recites documents: risk control area scope, groundwater monitoring reports, soil contamination risk assessment reports, and activity prohibitions in control areas.

Project Process Manifesto (1:handwrite)    

1. It will be fun to make the means the end.
2. It will be a pity if you put the process aside after the work is done.
(Or worse, invent it after the work is done.)  
3. In this handwriting case, focus not only on the words but also on the space and boundaries of the paper.  
4. In this handwriting case, notice the trace of your pen tip when it’s not touching the paper.  
5. In this handwriting case, be mindful of the parts you scribble out.   
6. Fortunately, the surprises that flashes and fades while you are writing are often more intriguing than the actual words you put down.  
7. Unfortunately, most of the process is messy, so do something with it before it grows too large to separate the good from the bad.   
8. Process the process in a not-so-resonable yet interesting way, so that the process can be free from its original purpose: to reach the final outcome.

Paraphrasis

L'automne

This is a city where the power often goes out, or maybe it's always night. People rarely see their families. Sometimes, I watch TV at home. Other times, I see someone who might be a friend, or maybe not, in some place. There's a damp, underground convenience store with nauseating hallways. The door is always locked, and you can only climb out through a small high window. On the other side is a walkway through the neighborhood. The girl my friend visits often washes clothes just behind that door, and then they leave.
Day after day, I watch from the window until one day, the story stops. What did he see behind the half-opened rolling door? I don’t know, but I feel a deep sadness. For me, something has ended. There's so much water, like filthy streets in the sewers. There are many kinds of windows, but only one fits my body. Maybe the hallway is the river of time.

Frame

Spin

Red line

La fête