Déjà Disparu
2020—2024
Compiled in 2024
Photography (B/W), Text
We wrap ourselves in layers. Some cling to the skin, like the sweat-laden clothes of a Hong Kong summer; others lie deeper: language, memory, time. The writer Juan Emar imagines time not as a straight line, but as something suspended and strange, a fabric where living beings move at different and irreconcilable speeds. While humans plod through thought, lions live at the velocity of planets, their movements compounding time, breakneck and enraged.² I think of this as the lift pulls me upward between floors and thoughts. The ghost of the Hokkien conversation evaporates as my heart rate slows, acclimatising to the cooler indoor temperature and the hum of machinery. Emar’s sense of time is a feeling I recognise here, twenty floors above the street in a concrete shaft, suspended between velocity, stillness, ground and sky.
Ackbar Abbas describes Hong Kong as a space of transit, where something’s always slipping away even as it arrives. The title of this series—Déjà Disparu—describes a condition where presence is already lost. ‘What is new and unique about the situation is always already gone,’ he writes, ‘and we are left holding a handful of clichés, or a cluster of memories of what has never been.’³ In this city of overlapping presents, disappearance is a condition of arrival.
I began this series during the pandemic. The shadows that fill these images felt fitting then, flooding the frame like dark ink. What once felt raw now seems layered with new meaning and a growing sense of distance, like a language overhead on a bus that is not understood, present yet ungraspable.
Footnotes:
- Ackbar Abbas, Hong Kong: Culture and the Politics of Disappearance (University of Minnesota Press, 1997), 26.
- Juan Emar, Yesterday (New Directions Publishing, 2022), 23—24.
- Abbas, Hong Kong, 25.