Elephant On Elephant Off
大象开 大象关
Poetry-Translation-Performance Apparatus
Chapbook, A5, 20pp., June 2026
Created for Buoyant Phantom, presented as part of the Dutch Art Institute’s Aeroponic Acts 2026: DAWN SEEDS at Centrale Fies in June 2026. The work is guided by the question:
“Can a room do ventriloquism?”
为《蜉蝣幻影》（Buoyant Phantom）而创作。该演出作为荷兰艺术学院“气培行动2026：黎明之种”的一部分，于2026年6月在 Centrale Fies 呈现。作品由一个问题引导：
“一个房间能够进行腹语吗？”
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At the Big Silly Elephant Playground in Foshan, two sky-blue elephant slides stand side by side. The newer one was built with safety in mind; the older one looks more like an elephant, though its entrance has been sealed. The trunk once contained a hollow passage for small bodies to move through. The entrance is gone, but the cavity remains.
The elephants are hollowed out, shaped for use, and repeatedly repainted in fresh sky blue. Standing in the park, I watched this clean yet dispiriting color migrate across service-counter uniforms, glass facades, and the faint glow of screens left on standby at night. I could not mourn the time once held within it. What sky blue leaves behind is not the surface, but the hollow beneath it.
This book listens closely to those sealed cavities: in the playground, the kindergarten bathhouse, Ward 308, the sound of a mother repeatedly checking whether the door is shut, and the distance between the newer and older elephants, between two faint “O”s.
I raised my phone, then lowered it. I did not want to take anything away from this place. I pressed my hand against the elephant’s outer wall as though it were an ear. Nothing could enter anymore, yet the vertigo kept carrying my time backward.
在佛山的大笨象公园里，两座天蓝色的大象滑梯并排而立。新的一座出于安全考虑而建；旧的一座更像一头大象，只是入口已被封住。象鼻内部原本是供小小的身体穿行的空腔。入口消失了，空洞却仍留在原地。
这些大象被掏空、塑造成可供使用的形状，又为了维护而一次次刷上新的天蓝色。站在公园里，我看着这种清新却令人沮丧的颜色不断迁移：它出现在服务窗口的制服、玻璃幕墙，以及夜晚待机屏幕的微光中。我无法哀悼其中曾经容纳的时间。天蓝色留下的不是表面，而是表面之下的空洞。
这本书试着贴近那些被封住的空腔倾听：在游乐场、幼儿园浴室、308病房，在母亲一次次确认门是否关紧的声音里，也在新旧大象和两个微弱的“O”之间。
我举起手机，又把它放下。我不想从这里带走任何东西。我把手贴在大象的外壁上，仿佛那是一只耳朵。已经没有什么能够进入其中，可眩晕仍把我的时间带回过去。
“Can a room do ventriloquism?”
为《蜉蝣幻影》（Buoyant Phantom）而创作。该演出作为荷兰艺术学院“气培行动2026：黎明之种”的一部分，于2026年6月在 Centrale Fies 呈现。作品由一个问题引导：
“一个房间能够进行腹语吗？”
At the Big Silly Elephant Playground in Foshan, two sky-blue elephant slides stand side by side. The newer one was built with safety in mind; the older one looks more like an elephant, though its entrance has been sealed. The trunk once contained a hollow passage for small bodies to move through. The entrance is gone, but the cavity remains.
The elephants are hollowed out, shaped for use, and repeatedly repainted in fresh sky blue. Standing in the park, I watched this clean yet dispiriting color migrate across service-counter uniforms, glass facades, and the faint glow of screens left on standby at night. I could not mourn the time once held within it. What sky blue leaves behind is not the surface, but the hollow beneath it.
This book listens closely to those sealed cavities: in the playground, the kindergarten bathhouse, Ward 308, the sound of a mother repeatedly checking whether the door is shut, and the distance between the newer and older elephants, between two faint “O”s.
I raised my phone, then lowered it. I did not want to take anything away from this place. I pressed my hand against the elephant’s outer wall as though it were an ear. Nothing could enter anymore, yet the vertigo kept carrying my time backward.
在佛山的大笨象公园里，两座天蓝色的大象滑梯并排而立。新的一座出于安全考虑而建；旧的一座更像一头大象，只是入口已被封住。象鼻内部原本是供小小的身体穿行的空腔。入口消失了，空洞却仍留在原地。
这些大象被掏空、塑造成可供使用的形状，又为了维护而一次次刷上新的天蓝色。站在公园里，我看着这种清新却令人沮丧的颜色不断迁移：它出现在服务窗口的制服、玻璃幕墙，以及夜晚待机屏幕的微光中。我无法哀悼其中曾经容纳的时间。天蓝色留下的不是表面，而是表面之下的空洞。
这本书试着贴近那些被封住的空腔倾听：在游乐场、幼儿园浴室、308病房，在母亲一次次确认门是否关紧的声音里，也在新旧大象和两个微弱的“O”之间。
我举起手机，又把它放下。我不想从这里带走任何东西。我把手贴在大象的外壁上，仿佛那是一只耳朵。已经没有什么能够进入其中，可眩晕仍把我的时间带回过去。
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