In the temporal and ecological registers, Yeer Zhang’s video watches a dead oak decompose over time, reframing death as ongoing transformation. Xinyi Liu’s silver plate photographs hold onto impermanence through long exposure, while Shenlu Liu’s fiber-optic lattice breathes subtly in response to proximity—an ambient field of perception. Lilla Baltagi’s shrouded figure, cradling a net of deep blue, sculpts memory through the presence of absence.

Oriane Lenoir’s video-sculpture This Was Supposed to Be Gentle stages a porous pink form pierced with metal rods—somewhere between prototype, wounded body, and misread instruction manual. It gestures toward interrupted softness, refusing to resolve into metaphor or machine. Sacha Devaux’s The Flame We Couldn’t Hold captures a lone flame inside glass, offering warmth across a pale, silent terrain. The work speaks less of fire than of the difficulty of holding—of grief, remembrance, and quiet effort. Noémie Brancourt’s We Sleep Through the Uprising unfolds in a fictional excavation site that merges lunar landscape with domestic ruin. Six anonymous figures move in slow, ritualistic gestures—echoes of rehearsal, labor, and soft resistance. Axel Verdet’s The Eye That Refuses to See animates a prosthetic object—a composite of pearls, foam, and metal springs.

This is not a site of observation, but one of refusal: the eye becomes a closed loop of sensation, sensing itself.

Together, these works choose resonance over clarity. They ask us not to look for meaning, but to feel its tremor—through rhythm, texture, opacity, and stillness. They invite a re-tuning of perception: to listen with the body, to dwell with what resists expression, and to remain with what remains.