Wandering, Memory, and the Reconstruction of Identity

When an individual loses the coordinates by which they once defined themselves—be it their hometown, their land, their faith, or their social class, ideals, and familial ties—how do they recognize who they truly are?

This question has become particularly acute today, as we inhabit an era where the coordinates themselves are continuously loosening, if not collapsing entirely. Home is no longer a sanctuary of stability; social class is no longer a fixed label; faith and ideals are repeatedly eroded; and familial bonds are gradually rendered silent by intergenerational dislocation. Consequently, wandering ceases to be merely a matter of geographical migration; it has evolved into a state of spiritual suspension. It is precisely within this suspension that memory fails to piece together a coherent narrative, and people are forced to reconstruct the self amidst fluid, fragmented experiences. They are thus thrown into an unanchored intermediate space—with no solid ground beneath their feet, and no clear direction overhead.

The following nine works, each entering the interior of distinct lives in their own way, collectively respond to that primal question. Before the Flood, Bing’ai, and A River’s Chronicle: The Zhous focus on the disappearance and the safeguarding of homelands; Wheat Harvest, Lao Tang Tou, and We Were Smart center on the wandering and identity reconstruction of marginalized groups; while A Young Patriot, The Millennium Bug, and A Moment of Gathering capture the cognitive metamorphosis of the younger generation. In witnessing these moving images, one can perceive more intuitively how structural shifts—such as the pivot of national policies or the transformation of economic frameworks—ultimately manifest upon a single countenance, a pair of hands, and a human soul.