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About us


SINCE COVID-19




︎ JESSICA BELT SAEM ELDAHR


Community Organizer
Cinarcik, Turkey

translated by Peng Wu

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The land of germs on slides and swings

March 14, the day before we had airplane tickets to leave our home in Minnesota
and fly into Istanbul, was one of the most stressful days I can remember.
Thousands of questions and fears circled around in our heads and were ever
present in our conversations. Was it safe to fly when just that four days
earlier COVID-19 was declared a pandemic? How would we keep our two-year-old
from touching everything and everyone? If we postponed our travel where would we
live? How long would this last? Could we afford waiting around?  I had just
stepped down from my job, and we had sold our house and all our belongings,
packing everything we had left into 5 suitcases (1.5 of them being filled with
my husband’s instruments). Regardless if our decision was to leave as planned or
stay, we were stepping into the unknown. The unknown has been our faithful
friend these past four months.

We arrived at our cold and dank Airbnb in a city of 15 million people and
immediately felt we needed to wait out the pandemic somewhere else. The next day
my husband rented a car, got lost multiple times as he found his way to where we
now call home, Cinarcik, a small town nestled on the coast of the sea of
Marmara. Our short-term rental had a sliver of a view of the sea, but the rest
of our view was consumed with concrete buildings, stray dogs, and lots of weeds.
With a curfew on anyone under 18 or above 60, I would sneak my son out early in
the morning where our only company were the stray dogs and cats, and hundreds of
seagulls and pigeons. I was never so grateful for my son’s fascination with
animals (and frankly, their poop) as it was our exclusive entertainment for our
first three weeks.  I often wonder what my son must have thought about this new
Turkey; a place where everyone wears masks, we talk to no one, and where “germs”
are on every slide and swing.  

We are slowly settling in. We now have views of olive orchards, minarets, and
huge cargo ships making their way through the Bosphorus strait. At night we can
see the lights of Istanbul flickering across the sea. On our daily walks I am
delighted by more flowers than I could ever imagine and the lovely breeze one
feels when living by the sea. I do wonder what the long-term effects of raising
a child during COVID-19 are, as my son runs away from the other kids on the
playground and constantly worries about germs. Today, July 15th marks four
months he hasn’t played with another child.

We continue to seek out a balance of living healthy and full lives, for
ourselves and for others. There is no perfect combination. Ultimately, we are
beyond grateful to be healthy. And we are finding joy in the littlest
observations and discoveries; finding a new walking path to our house, watching
from our window the addition of the ferry boats that have started to arrive from
Istanbul, trying new flavors of ice-cream, befriending the garden snails and
neighborhood cats. There is certainly a lot of fear that exists in the unknown,
but it is also full of joy, discovery, and gratefulness.




︎ 杰西卡•贝尔特•赛姆•艾德


社群组织人
土耳其，西纳尔西克市

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滑梯和秋千上布满细菌的城市

三月十四日是我记忆中压力最大的一天。第二天，我们最终还是决定买了从我们家当时所在的明尼苏达飞往伊斯坦布尔的机票，即刻启程。而在十四日这天，成千上万的疑问和恐惧在我们的脑海中不断翻腾。大家反复谈论着这些情况。四天前新冠病毒被宣布为全球大流行病，现在乘飞机还安全么？怎样才能防止我们两岁的孩子到处摸东西？如果我们推迟搬家去伊斯坦布尔的行程我们未来住哪里呢？疫情会持续多久？我们经济上能负担得起在这里等下去么？我刚刚从我的工作离职，已经卖了房子和我们所有的东西，把剩下的用品打包成了五个大行李箱（其中一个半行李箱塞满了我丈夫的乐器）。不管我们决定现在就出发还是留下等待，我们现在已经一步踏入了难以预料不确定中。这样的不确定性已经是我们过去四个月以来最忠实的伙伴常伴在左右。

我们抵达了目的地，拥有一千五百万居民的伊斯坦布尔，暂时在一个又冷又湿的民宿落脚。随即感到真应该在其他地方先躲躲疫情。第二天我丈夫租了车，在途中又迷路了无数次之后，终于到达我们现在的家所在的小城市马尔马拉海边的西纳尔西克市。在这个我们短租的房间里能看到窄窄的一小片海，其余视野中却矗立着水泥混凝土建筑，到处是野狗和荒草。城市正在实行宵禁，十八岁以下和六十岁以上的居民都不能外出。在安静无人的清晨，在野猫野狗四处游荡的时候，我会偷偷把我两岁的儿子带出门放放风。儿子对各种动物充满好奇（确切的说是对他们的便便）。我对这点心存感激，因为观察这些动物们是我们头三个礼拜的生活中唯一的娱乐项目。我常常很好奇在儿子的眼中这个新冠疫情下的土耳其是什么样子的：所有人戴着口罩，我们从不跟任何人聊天打招呼，所有的滑滑梯和秋千上都是“细菌”。

我们一点点逐渐在这个城市安定下来。我们远远的眺望橄榄树果园，清真寺的宣礼塔，巨大的货轮驶进博斯普魯斯海峽。夜幕降临，伊斯坦布尔古城的灯光在海对岸闪烁着。日常散步的时候会偶然惊喜的遇到难以置信的一大片花朵，在海边特有的微风中让人沉醉。而当我看到儿子会因为担心病毒而避开游乐场上的其他小孩时，我会想新冠病毒对成长中的小孩的人生会有哪些长远的影响呢？今天，七月十五号，儿子已经整整四个月没有和其他小孩一起玩耍了。

我们不断在健康安全和享受生活之间寻找一个平衡点。同时还要考虑我们的活动对其他人健康安全的影响。几乎不可能找到一个完美的模式。不管怎么说，我们对现在还算健康已经是谢天谢地了。现在生活中许多细小的发现时常给我们带来很多乐趣：比如发现一条能回到家的新散步路线；比如我们从窗口看出去发现从伊斯坦布尔城驶来的渡轮在增多；品尝新的冰激凌的口味；尝试跟花园里的蜗牛和邻居家的猫咪做朋友；虽然我们内心仍然对各种未知心存恐惧，但同时心里也时常充满快乐，新发现，和对生活的感恩。










︎ JING


Office worker
Tongliang, Chongqing, China
translated by PaiPai

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While the countryside seems open and unguarded, it might be the safest paradise
during the epidemic. Numerous checkpoints have been set up in the villages, and
vehicles from other places are strictly forbidden to enter, making it feel like
we were truly isolated from the rest of the world.

In the mountains, there are less lights but more stars. The courtyards and
streets of the neighborhood are tight and narrow. Traversing the dark alleyway
from my backyard to my neighbor’s somehow made me think of the stories I heard
as child about my elders’ experiences in tunnel warfare.

Typically, I would come back here for three or five days during the holidays.
This time, being trapped in the mountains because of the outbreak, I ended up
spending more than two months here with my elderly parents.

Life’s usually quiet here in the countryside, but now it’s rather busy. Many
young people who work year-round in the city have no choice but to stay and can
be seen fishing in the fields or rebuilding firewood houses.

If I happened to cross a busy scene, I would naturally pull tight my face mask
and assume proper social distancing. However, for many of the locals here,
regardless of the epidemic’s severity, doing away with social customs and
closeness is much more difficult.




︎ 靖


公司职员
中国，重庆市，铜梁县

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山野小院看似简陋，但没想到它却是疫情期间最安全的世外桃源。因为疫情，各村设了无数关卡，外地车尤其盘查严格不允许入村，几乎与世隔绝。

山里灯光少，星星多，天色到了晚上更是尤其的黑。邻里间院巷挨得紧凑，我们家通向别家后院得经过一个小巷道，黑灯瞎火的时候让我恍惚想起小时候长辈们讲述的关于地道战的故事。

平时节假日回来最多三五天，这次因疫情被困在大山里，能陪着老父老母的时间竟两月有余。

乡间清净惯了，现在却是热闹，到处是平日长期在外工作而现在不得已被困老家的年轻人下田捞鱼翻修柴房的身影。每次转路的时候碰见这些人头攒动的情形，我都紧紧口罩，转身远离。对于这里的人来说，疫情再严重，要不假思索地和邻里情隔离开来也是太难。









︎ ARIES QIAN


Artist
Chengdu, Sichuan, China

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I hate cooking. To be precise, it’s the dishwashing I hate, but nonetheless,
I’ve avoided the kitchen my whole life.

During the mandated self-quarantine period, I had no choice but to spend time
there. It started off with boiled potatoes and cabbage. After a few days of
prison rations, I finally ventured to the bottom of the freezer where I found a
skimpy field chicken, the kind only fit to boil a soup. With the help of another
kitchen-newbie, I made my first meat dish during the quarantine, roasted
chicken.

Unsurprisingly, it turned out charred all over, texture like old foot bandages.

This was the eight of February 2020 and since then I’ve had no desire for
anything oven-made.




︎ 派派


艺术家
中国，四川省，成都市

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我是一个极其讨厌做饭洗碗的人，活了二十多年，几乎从来不进厨房。

在中国疫情最严重的时间段里，因为一些原因，一个人留守在成都家里度过了两周。受情况所迫，不得不自己动手做饭。日常食谱基本为白水煮土豆或者开水煮白菜。连吃几天简约的素食快餐以后，终于按耐不住，从冰箱冷冻柜最底层中翻出了不知猴年马月冻进去的一只乌鸡。在同样不懂厨艺的朋友的远程怂恿下，做了这段时间以来的唯一一道肉菜，烤乌鸡。

这只烤乌鸡有副焦黑的外表，口感硬如几天没洗的裹脚麻布。

这一天是2020年2月8日，自那以后到现在，我再也没动过吃任何烤物的念头。








︎ YOUYANG


Independent Festival Curator
Beijing


By April, I had already been qurantined for 2 months. Nothing was open in the
town, no jobs to do, and there was nowhere to go. I saw the spring sweep over
the town and now it was almost gone, along with the most beautiful weather. I
was sometimes stuck in a sullen mood for no reason.


It was one April evening, and I was facetiming as usual with my boyfriend Peng
for a workout. However, seeing the beautiful sunset through the window made me
lose all my patience to stay home any longer, I went downstairs. I wanted to
stroll to the milk shop for an icecream, at one of the few grocery stores that
managed to stay open.

I remember when I passed the street with an open view, there was a stunning
colour gradient in the sunset glowing over the horizen in that magical minute.
The whole sky was like a glowing copy of a 2016 Pantone color of the year
advert, an elegant transition from Rose Quartz to Serenity. I always thought
Pantone was sneaky that year, two pinky pretty colors smoothly merged into one
were obviously the winner, I was impressed, but lacking much of serious respect.
Anyway I wanted Peng to see it too, I pointed my phone towards the sky but
realized there's only a compromised version of the scene, it was yellower, and
dimmer, like it was pasted with some over satuarated mayonaise and stained the
purity of the gentle glow. Cheap, I thought.


I told Peng my phone couldn't capture the true color of that beauty, and he was
like: "I'm not surprised, don't you think nowadays the camera is replacing our
eyes in more and more occasions, and photos will eventually replace our memory?
"


"We're forgetting our feeling of the moment, and wishing taking a picture can
save it, but it's fake, you're injecting yourself with a fake memory when
browsing through your album in a few months time."


I pondered a while but didn't buy it entirely, "No, I'm trying really hard
remembering it with my bare eyes, it's going to stick with me, it's too
beautiful to be forgotten!"


But two months later, now I really can't recall that real color anymore, I can
only remember the Pantone color of the year 2016, my memory now has been
modified by two digital pictures.


I almost remember the exact color I wished to capture, with my eyes widely open,
trying to take everything in.




︎ 俞悠洋



北京

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


到4月的时候我已经在家隔离两个多月了，这段时间什么店都不开门，也没有工作，哪里也去不了。眼看着春天来了又快要走掉，一年之中最美的天气频频光临，我就莫名的有些生气。
四月的某一个傍晚我像往常一样在家跟我的男朋友Peng视频连线健身，但是我看到窗外的夕阳实在是太美，就偷了懒，选择下楼去散步。我想要逛到街边的牛奶店买冰激凌，那是为数不多还在开门营业的本地商铺。
我记得路过开阔的马路时，天边的颜色呈现出了令人震惊的美丽颜色，那是落日余晖的魔法时刻，整个天空就像好几年前我看过的，2016年Pantone的年度色——Rose
Quartz和Serenity。我之前觉得Pantone耍了小聪明，选两个颜色的组合显然比只选一个更惊艳，更美，就很不屑，但是记住了那颜色。我一边这么想着一边抬起手机，希望让Peng也能看到这美丽的景色。只不过在手机镜头里的夕阳颜色更加偏黄，跟实际的冷艳光芒比起来像是抹了蛋黄酱，显得廉价、腻味。
我跟peng说这手机根本就捕捉不下来我看到的真实颜色，他就跟我说：你不觉得手机镜头正在代替我们的眼睛，而照片则正在代替我们的记忆吗？很久之后我们会忘记眼睛看到的画面，而留下来的只有照片，在翻看相册的时候这张照片就会被我们错当成真实的记忆了！但实际上这都是假的。
我听了后就很不买帐，我说不会的，我不会忘记这个景色的，我也在同时用眼睛看啊！我在很努力的把这个景象刻印在脑子里啊！
但两个月后的现在我已经回想不起来当时天空真正的样子了，我只能记起那近似的Pantone2016小聪明年度色。这是一段被两张照片修饰过的记忆，差一点，就差一点就能触及到我曾睁大双眼，希望留住的那缕光辉。










︎ PENG WU


Social practice artist and design activist
April,2019 / Hefei, China
translated by Peng Wu

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In the beginning of April, my mother finally started to organize my father's
book cabinet.

My father's book collection filled the two cabinets of ceiling height. Most of
the books are work related: from Optics to Quantum Physics, college textbooks
and problem sets. The rest of the books are martial arts novels, Chinese
calligraphy books, and drawing learning books. I remember when I was little,
father's book cabinets are paradise for me and my sister. We were so addicted to
reading the classic martial arts novels by Jin Yong that we wouldn't move for
hours and wouldn't notice the sky got darker and darker till the text got barely
legible. Right after the sunset mother would announce the time for dinner. After
a few times of failures to gather us to the dining table, she would yell at us
if we were still not moving.

Hidden among the books on the bottom shelf of the book cabinet there are the
belongings of our entire family. Handwritten on a piece of shabby copy paper,
there are bank account numbers, receipts of financial products, and a pile of
expired commodity ration coupons for grain, and cooking oil. There are around
forty to fifty pieces of coupons tied together with a cheap rubber band -
evidence of the hungry years. If Jobs grew up in those years, he may not have
encouraged the young college students "stay hungry, stay foolish". He would be
like my mom - can't stop asking "already full? have more!"

When I found this antique, I posted to instagram. My mentor at graduate school
Piotr Szyhalski - an installation artist originally from Poland - commented on
it with excitement that he is very familiar with the object and told me the
english name of them. I guess for his Poland, and for the China of my parent‘s
generation, hunger was part of "the normal". What is normal? The topic has been
repetitively brought up in a few projects of mine lately. In the entire world
that is deep in the turmoil of the COVID-19, everybody wakes up in the morning
asks him/herself: when can we go back to normal?

For my case, I left "the normal" a bit earlier than most people. I quit my job
and left for China in October 2019 to help take care of my father who was
diagnosed with late stage cancer. To me, leaving my home and friends in the U.S.
where I have lived for nine years was leaving "the normal". The plan of
returning to "the normal" has been postponed again and again by my father's
situation getting worse, and the outbreak of the COVID-19 in China and its
becoming a global pandemic. While far away from "the normal", life must go on.


Spring arrived. Surprisingly I started to find a daily routine in this
“temporary life” and enjoy my quarantine days. The gated community I was
quarantined in is so small that you can walk around it within ten minutes. After
my morning yoga and breakfast I wonder around the tiny gated community and spend
hours drawing a flower or a few leaves. I have been amazed by the limitless
beauty you can find in the limited amount of plants if you look close enough
with enough attention. The rediscovery of the beauty of the new world may have
happened at the end of the winter. Around the time, my father was in the last
stage of the cancer and no treatment had shown any effect. He insisted on
checking himself out of hospital and went home, which has been proven to be the
right decision. As the COVID-19 was spreading so rapidly that the hospital my
father was in became a designated COVID hospital a few days after we left. Back
then the world knew so little about the virus. Fear was spreading even faster
than the virus on social media. The only thing we knew was to avoid going to
hospital at any cost. Even we had no idea how to handle a patient in his last
stage of life. At one point, my father can barely eat anything. Much later after
my father passed away my mother told me that he asked her why we were still at
home instead of being in the hospital. My mother explained we could not go to
hospital as the virus would put our entire family in deadly danger. After
hearing my mother's answer my father didn't say anything. In one of these
desperate days, I sometimes felt the need to open the window of the balcony to
breathe in some fresh cold air. One time suddenly I detected a hint of fragrance
like a little firefly in the pitch dark night. I looked around and found there
were dozens of tiny white flower buds on the black tree branches right
underneath the balcony. "Look, there is plum blossom!" I announced to everyone,
"smell really good!" My father came back to consciousness briefly and corrected
me that it should be apricot blossom as plum blossom should be much later in the
year. I think this would be the last joyful conversation I had with my father.
After the apricot blossom, it came the peach blossom, then magnolia, and crap
apple. One after another they came to announce the arrival of spring, while my
father was no longer in consciousness for the most time.

Since quarantine, It has been my job - as I was supposed to have the strongest
immunity system as the youngest of my family - to pick up the grocery
downstairs. I sometimes took advantage of the precious opportunity of going
outdoors to wonder a bit longer in the community. I would pick a flower with
fragrance and put it by the bed of my father and that's the only thing I could
do to comfort his pain. My appreciation for the flowers and plants somehow
became an interest in drawing them. In the morning I leave home for drawing
everyday on time, carrying my folding stool, sun umbrella, and ipad. I was
joking with a friend that I feel like a painter from Barbizon school. After an
entire morning of drawing in nature I eat for lunch, and take a noon nap. Then
doing some work for projects. And everyday I would spend around two hours’
"virtual together" time with my boyfriend who was quarantined in a different
city. We invented many fun games such as doing video chat while following the
exercise programs in the KEEP app or watching movies together.  Sometimes, I
play Ping Pang with my mother and sister with bare hands, another game my sister
invented - Ping Pang balls are hit by hands instead of the rackets. My sister
believes the health benefit of getting hands hit in this way equals to getting
acupuncture, which increases your immunity system and keeps you away from COVID
infection. The family game heals the small wounds of constant small arguments in
the past few months of living together.

These are some details of the new "normal" for me. Compared to the "normal" of
pre-COVID era, there might be some insufficiency or even hunger, things happen
slower and quieter. But isn't it inevitable to have some kind of turning point
(maybe something else if not COVID) that would force us to reconsider the idea
of "the normal" dictated by the economic progression and consumerism, and ask:
will “this normal” still be there tomorrow. Or maybe the better question is:
what part of “the normal” is sustainable? Are food delivery Apps sustainable? Is
the flawless green grass lawn sustainable? Not rushing back to the normal but
reconsidering the details of the normal might be a more responsible attitude to
hundreds of thousands lives lost in the COVID-19. 

The pandemic could enlighten us a way out of this unsustainable modernism
economic progress. A way of making progress by walking backwards - a movement
suggested in the statement of the 12th Shanghai Biennale: Proregress——Art in an
Age of Historical Ambivalence:

“In fact, we have grown used to experiencing historical time as a constant swing
between moments of transformation and stagnation...The promise of technoscience
in shaping our civilization has become inseparable from the dangers posed by
climate change in the anthropocene, which now threaten us with the end of times.
…
For the Chinese title of the Biennale, we have chosen the concept of 禹步（YUBU),
the basic mystic dance step of Daoist ritual in ancient China. This dancing
technique makes the dancer look like he or she is moving forward while going
backwards at the same time. Beyond translating a concept made of western binary
concepts into Chinese, this figure also suggests the importance of the pursuit
of a way of thinking and culture that ought to help us thrive despite the
ambivalence of our era.”







︎ 吴朋


社群艺术家，设计师
2019 四月 / 合肥, 中国

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四月初，我妈终于开始整理起我爸的书柜。

满满两个将近天花板一般高的书柜，盛满了我爸不算多不算少收藏。大部分是工作需要的理论书籍，从光学到量子力学，国内外的教材和习题集。其次是武侠小说，书法，绘画之类。想起小时候，爸爸的书柜是我和姐姐的乐园。只有在放寒暑假的时候爸爸才会把书柜的钥匙给我们，让我们随意阅读金庸的武侠小说。我和姐姐都颇为上瘾，连看上几个小时在不知不觉中天色渐渐暗下来，书本上的字渐渐看不清了。夜幕降临，妈妈这时会喊我和姐姐吃晚饭，喊过几次再不放下书就会被挨骂。

隐藏在书柜的最下层夹在书本之间有一个旧旧的化纤袋子，里面就是我家的全部财产：磨得毛了边的复印纸上写着银行存款的号码，理财产品的合同，还有这用橡皮筋捆着的厚厚一打早已作废的粮票。粮票约莫四五十张，大多发行于六十年代，做为那个饥饿年代的证据。乔帮主要是成长于那个年代大概不会激励美国的年轻人要“stay
hungery, stay foolish”. 而是会像我妈那样说：“already full? have more!”

刚发现这样的古董时，我发到Instagram上，我研究生时候的导师—来自波兰的装置艺术家—Piotr
Schalski兴奋的回应，说他也非常熟悉粮票，还告诉我英文正确的叫法。想来在他年轻时代的波兰，一如我父辈的中国，饥饿曾是一种常态。What's normal?
是最近许多项目讨论中反复出现的话题。全世界所有受到疫情影响的人们每天早上眼睛睁开大概都会问自己：什么时候生活才会回到正常？
我个人体验到离开正常生活会比大部分人早一些。19年十月份我因为父亲癌症晚期，而辞去工作暂时回中国帮助母亲照顾父亲。离开生活了九年的美国的家和朋友们，对我意味着离开“正常”。向“正常”的回归因为父亲的病重，疫情的爆发和在全世界蔓延而一拖再拖。然而即使离开了“正常”,
生活仍然要过下去。

开春以来我竟逐渐找到了每日的规律而乐在其中。每天上午瑜伽和早饭之后我会在十分钟就可以步行一圈的小区里花几个小时用ipad画一朵花或者几片树叶。我惊奇的发现小小的隔离生活区里，如果你足够近距离的仔细观察，竟有无限的美。重新发现植物的美对于我似乎来自于这个寒冬的末尾。那些日子里，父亲癌症到了最后的日子，已经完全不能进食。新冠疫情正四处蔓延如火如荼。父亲几天前刚刚出院的医院被划归新冠专属医院。全国所有人的隔离生活刚刚开始，我们只知道要不惜一切代价躲在家里，即使临终的父亲需要医疗急救也不可以去医院。在这样令人绝望窒息的寒冬日子里，我会时常打开阳台的窗户探出头去呼吸冰冷的新鲜空气。忽然有一天凌冽的空气中传来一股若有若无的清香。低头仔细寻找，发现黑色的树干上竟不知不觉中遍布珍珠一般闪耀的小小白色花蕾。”梅花开了！“我向全家宣布。我爸似乎从漫长的半昏迷中醒来纠正我说，这应该是杏花，梅花没有这么早。这也许是我记忆中和父亲的最后一次轻松的交谈。紧接着，桃花，白玉兰，海棠一个接一个赶来宣布冬去春来，而父亲大部分时间都已处在半昏迷中。

隔离以来每几天会由我-全家免疫力较高的成员-去楼下拿网上买的菜。借着这珍贵的出门机会，我偶尔会摘一朵有香味的花放在父亲的床头。这似乎是在不能去医院的日子里唯一能为临终的父亲缓解痛苦所做的努力。这样对植物的感激似乎在父亲过世以后以绘画的形式保留下来。我和朋友开玩笑说，每天戴着草帽，提着折叠凳子按时出门的我简直是我们小区的“巴比松画派”。巴比松整个上午，午饭，然后到了我们全家的懒洋洋的午休时间。午休起来处理邮件做一些项目的文字或者设计工作。下午晚饭前会满怀期待的和异地的爱人视频连线一起在KEEP
app上做家庭健身运动。有些日子还会和姐姐和母亲一起玩我姐姐发明的空手乒乓球 —
就是不用球拍而是用手掌打乒乓球。据我姐的说法是有按摩手掌穴位的中医健身功效，可以增强免疫力预防新冠也未可知。全家人一起游戏让这半年以来焦虑和冲突不断的共同生活舒缓起来，稀释了父亲过世的阴霾和疫情的沉重。

这些，就是我“Since COVID-19”的“新正常”生活。
相比前COVID时代的normal，可能有一点饥饿匮乏，有一点安静缓慢。然而COVID难道不是一个迟早到来的人类历史节点，让我们真正去反思以消费主义和所谓“发展观“主导下的“正常”生活，是否是可持续的。外卖App是可持续的么？完美的绿色草坪是可持续的么？不去匆忙的尝试回到前COVID时代的“正常”，而是去学习去改变，这可能是我们面对全世界因新冠而逝去的几十万个鲜活生命应有的态度。

这场世界范围的疫情也许可以给我们一条出路，脱离这种资源消耗式的经济进步方式和生活方式。这让我想起第12届上海双年展有趣的中文名：“禹步”，一种通过倒退而取得的进步。在新冠的背景下拿出来重读真是相当应景。展览陈述这样说：

禹步 - 艺术在充满矛盾的时代中：

“事实上我们已经习惯了历史在革新和停滞之间持续不断的摆动。科技进步许诺给我们的社会文明伴随着气候变化带来的人类灭绝的危机。

我们选择将“禹步”作为展览的中文名。这是一种中国古代神秘的道教仪式中的舞蹈步法。这种步法让舞者看似前进的同时也在后退。这个形象超越了西方前进或后退二元论的观点，提醒我们去寻找一种不同的思考方式和文化，得以帮助我们在这个充满对立矛盾的时代中欣欣向荣。







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