letters from the mists

It lived in the noodles he cooked in England. It lived in the teapots in our house. It lived in the song of a bird in our garden. It lived in the smell of the clematis climbing the entrance post. It lived in the four letters pinned vertically above our front door, spelling Amoy. It lived in the peonies lining the path. It lived in my father’s eyes when he listened to music. It lived in the expectations of who I would become. 

Our house was an island, caught in the tides of an unmarked return, governed by invisible connections and roots that stretched and spread, creating an intangible property of what it meant to belong. What has emerged is an oddly universal language that brings together pieces of home, which anyone, from anywhere, might ultimately perceive  as familiar. 

I am returning lightly. Late in life. Entering an unknown harbour, but then again, a harbour I know. The yellowing photo of my Swiss auntie disembarking on the Gulangyu dock. Blue-eyed. Other. The harbour my father had painted out in my mind – where he once sailed Chinese junks. Boats I knew, but had never seen. Boats I could smell in my mind, alongside the sea cucumbers, the salty air and the billowing sail. 

Floating roots, pieces of home, a return. 

To return as an artist and descendant of the Lin Family to the Lin Mansion was a remarkable experience. For the occasion, I prepared a site-specific installation relating to my family history: a reflection on origin, heritage, and belonging. A rethreading of the stories I grew up with about my Great-grandfather Lin Er-Jia and his family.

The installation is comprised of a series of fictitious letters between my ancestors, myself, and my great-granddaughter (to whom I am an ancestor), suspended between a floating panorama of landscapes and cedars, originating from my paintings and printed on chiffon silk.

The work includes a series of ghost-like textile figures recalling my great-grandfather, his six wives, my parents, and myself before I was born. They are formed from various types of silk, printed with specific paintings, then folded, tied, buttoned, and in some cases, stitched together. Padded hands, recall presence, the acts of doing, and time on earth. 

The inherent qualities of silk create a dreamlike space where the viewer is invited to walk between the images and read the letters. A floating image, of varying transparencies that responds to the slightest current of air as viewers pass through.

The work is a reflection on ancestry: where we have come from, where we are, and where we are heading. In a fast-paced moment in time, this sense of connection is easy to lose.