Inspired by the cinematic language of Apichatpong Weerasethakul, I question the visible and the invisible.

Like him, I come from Asia, carrying other narratives stories that connect human beings, environment, and life itself. Everything is interwoven, emerging through complex relationships that link the individual, society, and nature, within another kind of continuity, another temporality between past and present.

During my residency at La Déviation, what first drew my attention were the cliffs surrounding this former industrial site. Their presence exceeds our understanding. They speak of a history of which we are a part.

Multiple realities intersect here:

the existence of the cliffs, their formation, the geological strata that compose them, layer upon layer; the traces of past industrial activity — dust, metal, gravel; and my own life, intertwining identities: woman, mother, wife, artist.

Where does the power of the cliffs reside?

In the energy beneath, in the light, in what appears still yet moves invisibly, and in what we perceive. In the Western perspective, these are merely rocks and matter. But within my cultural background, I attend to other dimensions: their meaning, their energy, and the connections that bind us to them.

We are interconnected.

In my paintings, I allow water, dust, color, and light to enter into dialogue with unknown elements. These elements come from here, and from elsewhere. I welcome them. I also integrate the industrial history of La Déviation and its present condition — a site shaped by openness, experimentation, and collective effort.

It is a fragile condition: a community with limited resources, situated at the margins, yet driven by a strong desire to find its place within society. A place slightly withdrawn — like a refuge at the edge of social life, where people come when needed. At the foot of the cliffs, caravans are installed for artists to live in.

These caravans embody a marginal position: another possibility — of travel, of nomadic existence.

They appear in my paintings.

From the intersection of these elements, a question emerges:

What is my origin?

I come from Taiwan, an island floating on the sea — fundamentally different from the European continent. What lies beneath the cliffs? My son answered:“Dinosaurs. Dragons.”

I turn inward, recalling Gauguin’s question:

Where do we come from?

What are we?

Where are we going?