Untitled (Grieving in New York City)
(2018)

2-hour public performance, West 23rd Street, NYC

To each of their own. 
Tell me a story that I don’t know.

The indignation of loss has been on my mind. Grief is demanding companion, and can manifest itself in a variety of immense emotions. Though experienced by everyone at different points of our lives, grief remains fiercely private. There's no one way to grieve and no one way to comfort. Mental health doesn’t have a face, and recovering doesn’t look in a certain way. This isolating, yet universal emotion isn’t one that has been acknowledged or talked openly in society. Walking my own personal journey, as well as walking alongside with others. I’ve spent the past year asking: How can we better hold space for each other when there’s always a cloud we’re trying to avoid, that we might not even recognise on the surface? How can we create better spaces offer a meditation on our loss and provide solace for this relationship with grief? What happens when we bring the unexpected and incredibly personal questions to the busy pedestrian?

Untitled (Grieving in New York City) is a 2-hour public performance where I kneeled / sat / walked back and forth of West 23rd Street of NYC while smiling to strangers and holding a signboard — as an appropriation of the public signages in NYC. The interactive and exhibitionistic piece explores creating intimacy in public spaces and how the gesture of (un)masking can spark the most personal and intimate of conversations in the otherwise hurried, fast pace of New York City. Strangers are welcomed to come forward to respond, or do the same. 

There’s something irreplaceable about the physical human presence, face-to-face communication, and committing to having conversations that matter in a city full of small talks. As I opened my heart and vulnerability to strangers on the streets, I realise I could be a catalyst and medium for trust and intimacy.

At the end, I also became a story collector.


*All photos are taken with permission. These photos serve as a memento for those who have come forward to share a lovely conversation with me. (of course, not all, I do my best to be respectful!)