We are intimately connected with other species.

Not long ago, a train carrying the hazardous chemical vinyl chloride derailed in Ohio, USA, causing the chemical to leak in all directions. As the train caught fire, large amounts of toxic gas rose into the blue sky. People complained about the inconvenience the accident brought to their lives and health, but the severe environmental pollution it caused was barely mentioned in most news reports—after all, not many people care about a few dead fish or withered trees. Similarly, when Fukushima's nuclear wastewater was about to be discharged into the ocean, what people were most concerned about was whether they would end up eating radioactive fish. When it comes to cleaning up the messes we’ve made, the natural ecosystem is often taken for granted as a sacrifice we can afford.

Human beings come from nature and remain a part of it, now and in the future. Anthropocentrism has dominated societal values for thousands of years. Only in contemporary times are more people beginning to realize how laughably insignificant human arrogance is in the face of nature, and how deeply our lives are interwoven with all living things, in both obvious and subtle ways. If humanity continues to ignore these connections and proceeds with blind self-interest, they themselves will ultimately be the ones to pay the price for their mistakes.

In the three exhibitions introduced in this issue, curators and artists use various forms and creative approaches to help viewers feel what sustains our civilization and supports our material and spiritual lives—beyond the human subject.

PART.1

Species Cloud: 

A Network of Connections Among Different Forms of Life

Humans regard themselves as the rulers of the Earth 

and have alienated nature into a possession of their own. 

As a result, they assume they hold absolute authority in deciding 

how nature should be treated.

Patrícia Domingues, Plant Matrix (still), video installation, 21 min 12 sec, 2021–2022. Commissioned by Screen City Biennial, supported by Cecilia Brunson Projects.

Biodiversity has been incorporated into the realm of national assets, with researchers at biological institutes tallying species within national borders as if taking stock of property. In this process of commodification, nature is separated out—rendered as a countable, exchangeable resource. Yet the relationship between humans and nature is neither one of subordination nor ownership. In the wake of repeated natural and biochemical disasters, humanity has begun to realize the naivety and ignorance behind the claim that "humans are the masters of all things." Inspired by Célia Lowenhaupt Tsing, the Species Cloud exhibition at the Mekelong Art Center describes the relational structure between us and all living beings as a "cloud" network—one with blurred and open boundaries, no fixed center, and ever-shifting components.

This exhibition focuses on a recent trend: the use of anthropological and ethnographic approaches in ecological research-based art practices. In other words, artists are no longer beginning with green technologies, the biological characteristics of a species, or observations of the environment. Instead, they start from the interactions and relationships between humans and other species—paying attention not only to the role of those species within larger ecosystems, but also using the process as a way to re-examine humanity’s own place within the web of life.

Yuri Ororo, Learning from Artemisia Afra, three-channel video, acrylic on wood panel, dimensions variable, 14 min 18 sec, 2019–2020. Commissioned by the Lubumbashi Biennale. Image courtesy of Mekelong Art Center, photo by Sun Shi.

Let’s begin with a representative example. Since ancient times, our ancestors have understood that plants and animals could be used as medicine—they have played an irreplaceable role in saving human lives. The first antibiotic, penicillin, was derived from microorganisms, and Chinese scientist Tu Youyou, who was awarded the Nobel Prize in Medicine, led the development of artemisinin, a highly effective treatment for malaria extracted from the plant Artemisia annua (sweet wormwood).

Artist Yuri Ororo’s work Learning from Artemisia Afra explores the story of a women’s cooperative in Congo that cultivates Artemisia afra, a species of wormwood. However, the World Health Organization remains skeptical of the plant’s medicinal value, leading to a lack of support from both international and local governments. At the same time, the high cost of imported pharmaceuticals makes them inaccessible to many locals, and drinking herbal tea made from Artemisia becomes the only affordable option in the fight against malaria.

In this immersive installation, viewers are invited to join the artist in visiting the cooperative and even taste a cup of the herbal tea. The work goes beyond simply discussing the medicinal properties of the plant—it reveals how this species intersects with local economic and political realities, offering a glimpse into the struggles faced within the capitalist world system.

The Khao Niew Fermentation Sisters Club, The Mountain Storyteller, the Storytelling Mountain: A Story Theater (still), single-channel HD video, 16 min 16 sec, 2020. Image courtesy of Mekelong Art Center, photo by Sun Shi.

Different species also serve as symbols and become part of human culture—they can be tribal totems or objects of faith. In The Mountain Storyteller, the Storytelling Mountain by the Khao Niew Fermentation Sisters Club, a sacred tree serves as the centerpiece of a rural ritual. Through a seven-chapter, prose-poetry structure, the artists narrate stories and practices about the coexistence and interconnection between humans, the natural environment, and a spirit-filled otherworld.

Meanwhile, artist Sergio Rojas Chávez explores the emotional bond between humans and plants. In his video installation What It Takes (To Win Your Love), the artist encounters the monstera plant—native to his homeland—while living abroad. This plant carries his childhood memories, nostalgia, and feelings of alienation as an immigrant. He presents the work as a love letter, expressing his deep affection for the monstera.

Sergio Rojas Chávez, What It Takes (To Win Your Love), mural, HD video, photography, 9 min 45 sec, 2021. Image courtesy of Mekelong Art Center, photo by Sun Shi.

At the end of the exhibition, the art center provides a collection of related literature for visitors to explore. Even though this is a research-focused show, the curatorial team does not want the audience to be limited to specialists in the field. Instead, they hope the artworks will awaken viewers’ critical awareness. On one hand, guided explanations help visitors understand the issues at hand; on the other, the literature encourages continued curiosity about these topics. Curator Yang Beichen candidly admits that the exhibition won’t necessarily make things easy for visitors: “Giving people a challenge makes them more willing to engage deeply, doesn’t it?”

PART.2

Cactus

An uncontrollable ecosystem

Cacti and other succulents

Zhang Ruyi, Soaked Landscape—2 (detail). Image courtesy of UCCA Center for Contemporary Art, photo by Sun Shi.

Next, through exhibitions featuring two artists’ works, we will explore how other species inspire their creative process. As quiet whisperers in our daily environment, cacti serve multiple symbolic roles for artist Zhang Ruyi. On one hand, they represent our busy urban lives; on the other, they act as a projection of the artist herself—cacti are spiky and defensive, yet possess soft, water-filled cores beneath their tough exterior.

“Zhang Ruyi: Whispering” exhibition view, 2022. Image courtesy of UCCA Center for Contemporary Art, photo by Sun Shi.

In the artist’s early works, cacti first appeared as sketches on finely gridded paper, where they underwent various imaginative rehearsals in form. Later, the cactus entered the artworks as a real living organism, while the grid transformed into three-dimensional tiled backgrounds. Eventually, the cactus evolved into concrete-cast sculptures—resembling fossils from future archaeological sites—completing a cyclical transformation from non-life to life and back to non-life once again.

In this solo exhibition, plastic film—used as one of the primary materials in the large site-specific installations The Desert Is Not Sad, Nor Is It Uninhabited and Water Stains—emerges as a key to understanding the artist's creative approach. Plastic film is widely used in the construction of artificial greenhouses: it allows sunlight to enter while blocking the exchange of gases like carbon dioxide with the outside environment. Alongside other regulatory systems, it enables a year-round springlike climate inside the greenhouse, freeing humans from the constraints that seasonal changes place on crop cultivation. In a sense, within the greenhouse, humans assume a godlike role—creators presiding over life itself.

“Zhang Ruyi: Whispering” exhibition view, 2022. Image courtesy of UCCA Ullens Center for Contemporary Art, photo by Sun Shi.

“Zhang Ruyi: Whispering” exhibition view, 2022. Image courtesy of UCCA Center for Contemporary Art, photo by Sun Shi.

And yet, to this day, humanity has not succeeded in building a fully self-sustaining artificial ecosystem. Even an ambitious project like Biosphere 2 ultimately ended in failure after a period of operation. This underscores the complex and often invisible entanglements among all elements of the natural world. Humans are still far from being able to account for every variable needed to make a man-made system truly self-consistent. Any environment that falls short of embracing these vast interconnections remains inherently fragile.

“Zhang Ruyi: Whispering” exhibition view, 2022. Image courtesy of UCCA Center for Contemporary Art, photo by Sun Shi.

For instance, in the exhibition work Soaked Landscape, moss gradually spreads over the sculpture inside an aquarium as time passes, while a small scavenger fish swims tirelessly within, bringing a touch of vitality to the museum space. Yet this miniature ecosystem was far from perfectly established within the gallery. Even with tightly controlled conditions, museum staff could only helplessly accept the reality that the little fish would occasionally die or disappear. This reminds us that for the foreseeable future, Earth will remain our only viable home—irreplaceable and fragile.

PART.3

The Myco-Age

An Artist’s Imaginative Journey

The attention to non-human agents is not a consciousness 

that only emerged with modern civilization. 

In the animistic mythologies of ancient East Asia, animals and plants

those most familiar and frequently encountered in daily human life

often took on mythic forms in folk tales, transformed into 

spirits, deities, or demons.

Shigeo Otake, The Last Days of the Traveling Mushroom Garden, 1993, tempera and oil on canvas, 53 × 72.7 cm. Image courtesy of Hive Center for Contemporary Art.

Compared to the Western emphasis on rationalism that often views nature as mechanical and passive, people in the East Asian cultural sphere tend to hold a deeper reverence for the natural world and are more inclined to empathize with the animals and plants around them. Shigeo Otake lives in a rural area surrounded by ancient tomb parks and shrines, where the pervasive presence of spirit and deity cultures deeply influences him. This environment allows Otake’s imagination to leap beyond the everyday world and enter a realm of mysterious forces and supernatural beings.

One technique to enhance reader immersion in speculative fiction is blending fictional narratives with real human history—such as offering explanations for past mysteries or creating alternative histories that run parallel to the present. Examples include the alternative origin story of humanity in Prometheus (the Alien prequel) and Dan Brown’s  unique interpretations of images and symbols in art history. In his work Phangtopía, Shigeo Otake constructs a world where humans and non-human creatures hybridize or coexist symbiotically. He merges themes from Renaissance masters like Giotto, Botticelli, and De Chirico with images of humanoid spirits from Japanese folklore and ukiyo-e ghost stories, blending them with prehistoric creatures, insects, and marine life. Ultimately, this leads to the concept of “myco-humans”—beings born from humanity’s reconciliation with fungi at the apocalypse—suggesting that humans may have resembled this hybrid form all along, from ancient times to the present.

Shigeo Otake, Saint Francis Exorcising the Devil, 2009, tempera on wood panel, 24.3 × 33.4 cm. Image courtesy of Hive Center for Contemporary Art.

Shigeo Otake, Spider Woman, 2009, tempera on wood panel, 24.3 × 33.4 cm. Image courtesy of Hive Center for Contemporary Art.

Shigeo Otake offers a vivid visual interpretation of Roan Ching’s concept of “Contamination” for the audience. His fascination with fungi carries even more intriguing metaphoric significance. In 1985, Otake discovered a specimen of Cordyceps (commonly known as caterpillar fungus) near his studio, sparking a deep obsession with the organism. He became a member of the Japan Cordyceps Enthusiasts Association and contributed to the compilation of The Cultural Chronicle of Cordyceps. The fungus’s mycelium pierces the insect’s shell, siphoning its energy and gradually taking over the host’s consciousness, turning it into a puppet for reproduction. This entire process resembles a ghostly possession, blurring the boundaries between human imagination and natural reality. In the chapter titled “The Metamorphosis of Cordyceps,” Otake casts humans as hosts to fungi, artistically exchanging roles between fungus-insect and ghost-human relationships through his work.

Shigeo Otake, Mushroom Nirvana, 2019, tempera on wood panel, 33.3 × 45.5 cm. Image courtesy of Hive Center for Contemporary Art.

A research-focused exhibition featuring two artist case studies is taking place concurrently at the 798 Art District, telling the timeless stories of intertwined and symbiotic relationships between humans and all living beings in nature. Throughout human progress, we have never truly been separate from nature; rather, we have become so accustomed to this symbiosis that it has faded into invisibility within our consciousness. Only through the jolting “alienation” invoked by the artworks do we suddenly realize the profound debt we owe to the natural world.