She Blooms In The Morning
     2024  sound installation

In my childhood neighborhood, the madwoman who had been politically persecuted during the Chinese Cultural Revolution passed away. For nearly 40 years, every day at sunrise, upon seeing the color red or hearing any propaganda news from the radio, she would frantically rush out of her home, directing her desperate curses at the sun, which had once been seen as a totem of salvation, again and again: "Reject! Reject! Reject everything! You will hurt me! Get out! Get out!..." Subsequently, she was forcibly dragged back by the community administrator time and again, and this scene was like a recurring nightmare, etched into the collective memory of the community's mornings.

In that era, the people were likened to sunflowers, always facing the political leaders symbolizing light—the sun. Therefore, I collected the broken recordings of this woman from the past and created a sunflower-shaped solar-powered sound device. I placed the device in the neighborhood where she had been deprived of her freedom. When the sun rose, it mechanically turned towards the light, forming a kind of ironic technical performance: the energy source of ideology (the sun) was transformed into the power to activate critical voices. As the light grew stronger, the suppressed accusations became sharper, questioning the sun that had burned her. If someone leaned in to listen to her words, her voice would shift from frantic shouts to the steady breath of a woman. It was as if, in the gaps of lies, the individual's desire for truth and tranquility had never truly been extinguished; this too was a cycle—from shouting to silence, from public to private.

In this public space where the historical scars are repeatedly enacted under the sunlight, the woman's voice becomes a "trace," transforming her absence into a ghostly presence. The work reactivates historical memory, forcing the audience to confront the specter of political violence. It creates interference in the high-definition contemporary political landscape through low-resolution technological remnants. It is both a testimony to specific historical traumas and a questioning of the enduring power structures. It allows the voices of the forgotten to gain new materiality and permanence within the technological cycle.


At this moment, the cycle is no longer just a symbol of oppression but becomes a technical strategy of resistance against forgetting: the suppressed voices do not disappear; they continue to resonate in ghostly forms, interrupting the fictional continuity of linear history.