the text and images below are posted from beijing, berlin, hong kong, new york, sado island and zürich. there are a few of us, and this is the space in between.

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立夏 six days after the standing, summer

20150506_BISHANmorning

BISHANhangers

BISHANmack

20150506_BISHANhuixiangdou立春吃豆

BISHANcutestdog我们称为村子里最可爱的狗

20150506_BISHANtree李春的树

20150506_BISHANkitty

20150506_BISHANlaotaitai享受“花顺” + farmer

20150506_BISHANgardenwalls

20150506_BISHANframe曲解的建筑和曲解的衣服作为新农村建设

20150506_BISHANjudd汪源清“极简主义

20150506_BISHANlight

20150506_BISHANaicaogao艾草糕

BISHANmodern猪栏“现代主义”

20150506_BISHANoxe

BISHANpigsinn3

BISHANxiami

BISHANgongjiaoshe供销社

BISHANbusstop

being a tool. befriending the uncomfortable. noting discrepancies. reconstructing the possibility of a third.

20150506_BISHANkunfangmapping

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for what is not heard in one ear goes through the mouth and circles all around

2012年3月,某一日 (for mister e, come back soon. for haxi, welcome back.)

Posted by 丫 | reply »


preparing miso



photos by 3.5GH

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time’sawastin’

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sunday

walking around a new city on a sunday morning, thinking about cakes and the lives you will never live. getting lost. it’s raining and the sloping roof of the opera house makes you miss architecture. a scone with fruits and nuts, the king riding by.

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chainletter dinner

We prepared some of your recipes

Maria Kley:

Lucio Castro:

이토비 Toby Lee:

山口明香 Asuka Yamaguchi:

Fotini Lazaridou-Hatzigoga:

何京蕴 Anouchka van Driel & Jasmina van Driel:

Please click “more” below to see the full recipes.

Posted by secretary | more »


inventory, for aikun volume 2

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from a contribution to aikun zine number 2, by 王汉丽 Regina Ho. Recording by her daughter , April 2010.

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in passing, black-capped chickadee

Michael writes to H.F:  “We enjoy the space between being ‘in the know’ and simply being attentive to one’s social environment where the unexpected may occur, setting up an interaction that will provide a meaningful communication, ‘loading the decks’.”

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[photos by 戴璞 Dai Pu]

It ends with a face in rain, or two, that washed away one after the other like passing faces in a party.

The next day, he sends me a message: “One day I will explain to you why things are so complicated.”

And then it becomes difficult to respond, silence an only recourse, uncovering to plot thickening. The loneliness amidst joyful crowds, like the stripping away of an impersonator who says, “I don’t know. I was born that way.”

People ask questions all the time to which we must answer, “I don’t know.” I can’t remember anymore which way it was when i was born, but somehow I always return to a letter read as a child, from an old woman. I read her as if I were her already, so confounded by the inexplicability of my thoughts, to the possibility of their being expressed. It seems now, in future, utterly impossible to answer any question asked of me. I find less and less the words to place the complexities of my feeling.

Perhaps now back outside of each of those moments, I could answer each of you in turn, eloquently and honestly. Like an old woman’s remembrance of the sound of a black-capped chickadee, a doing nothing kind of being or simply, so simply, the fullness of…

Posted by 丫 | reply »