“Mosquitoes, Dusts, and Thieves” Exhibition

47 Canal

This event has ended.

We escaped from yesterday to complete a mission of seeing the world from a point of view of three. It was a hot and windy night. We were unknowingly forced to meet. All working together, we wanted this to happen. Perhaps the wind helped a little. You called me. And I answered your call. I came closer because I wanted more. With you to free heat for each other. Not just the wind, maybe.

Smuggling a foreign object into the cinema, she asked, “Why can’t we bring more than popcorn?” Lit in mothering compression, a forbidden speak, “What about you? What will you bring? ” An altered machine witnesses love. No figures only pure fluctuations. A mechanical sensor struggles to adopt a new language. Lifting the blindfold, she retrieves her automatic machine, love on record, mimicking light to project a movement of language, whispering in the darkness. Closer, Closer, Says Love.

He picked up his confidential ten year past and dried it with two hundred and thirteen translated poems, substances and reminders. Today, let’s have an earlier rest. Sorry, how about six thirty? Drink when it is hot. Leave it alive in the parlor. I am heart-broken. I am not going to wash my hair. All dolls were pressed under sleeping heads. Bloody Flavour Won’t Go Away. If I die tomorrow, what do I get today? As long as someone gives you a medal, you will worship it as the god. The hand named intolerance cuts off sources of blood; the hand named unfamiliar claws open pores inside; the hand named helpless allows people to put the future into the cooking pot, Squeezing Juices Out of the Time.

Softer than hands, sweeter than feet, coquettishly rising over the Field. Out there, he and the gardener, together forging an affinity for labor through distant intricate contact: hand held heads gripping a mesh foam machine, soiling cotton over tractor cuts, weather belting speed on limb-like trees. A bust of memories, drying to remember days for kouros, sun and brick sharing A Stand, greeting one body in anticipation of another.

A light passage. Warm winded, you open the balcony window and we turn off the light.

“They have to invent, from A to Z, a relationship that is still formless, which is friendship: that is to say, the sum of everything through which they can give each other pleasure.”
– Friendship as a Way of Life, Michel Foucault

PRACTICE, founded in 2015, is an independent project space led by Ho King Man, Cici Wu, and Wang Xu. Located on the top floor of a Cantonese building in Chinatown, New York, PRACTICE acts as an artist’s studio, exhibition space, and residency program. PRACTICE welcomes migratory artists passing through the city to live in the space itself and work on their projects for free. Artists live, make work, and exhibit their own work and curated exhibitions in the multifunctional space.