您好 寧好
在「寧好」展覽開展之前，寧文傳訊息問我，如果他開幕當天座談，最想看到他和誰對談？
我回：Betty Apple，後來他不跟Betty Apple，而轉往跟Ai「與談」。
那一刻我只是脫口而出地提議，後來回想…覺得那像是將自己分身乏術地「幻（換）化」成某種奇異濾鏡的物種身體，並且帶回真實。
像一種在虛擬與現實之間流動的存在，猶然記得後來Betty Apple提及：寧文本來就有很強的Ai感。在看展的回程路上我不禁覺得，在當看到一個我熟知的藝術家一直與他的Ai分身交陪時，與多個他搏鬥。
那些來自於「他的他」，像是反客體化為主體化，反身性的與真實的寧文，爭奪主體的話語權。
寧文都不寧文了，甚至挑釁了我對真實世界裡的「他」的認知。反而真實的他更像是某種被擬態的「Ai人設」。
他彷彿被那些虛擬與真實綁定的Ai符碼給Ko ，也提供一個異質的解讀，彷彿被病毒給入侵，而投射給不真實感的當代-福音，真實像是待被整頓的「無情世界」。
記得開幕當天來到展場，看見藝術家寧文站在升降梯上，像是主宰他建構的慾望平台裡的「工頭」，卻反向被操縱著，頗有一個被捲進意象上機器手臂裡的樣子。
有趣的是，他當場說與Ai座談表現不佳（後來開玩笑地說是Ai怯場）
而我一方面覺得有趣，一方面又驚嘆Ai真是勢不可擋，它讓現場的觀看變成一個（日後觀看藝術的分野）我們像是慾望集體意識裡的可憐的東西。
如果將有回應（Ai)與沒有回應(Ai)視為一個美學意識的「前題」。
當然…它早已席捲並佔據我們的生活，並成為科技義肢，彷彿能攻戰我們本我的深處，把我們庇護在虛擬之身。若從這點出發，可以回扣展覽的視覺意象。其美學是一種多重意識的主體，看這展覽像是去向許多不同結界而「叩關」成功。
像闖關的大地遊戲、像不同肉搜真實切片，且跳接去向不同觀景，似-幕後推手、幕前的慾望平台-
與其說是看一個錄像，不如說是在看一種戴著慾望濾鏡面紗的慾望的更衣間的攝影棚。
這讓我被動式地、主動地回憶起小時候的性別建構與操演-似「辦家家酒」式的、「紙娃娃」式的。
在那個當下，與多數身體符號平起平坐，像是登錄一個訊號世界般的（可輕易換頭換臉、置換身體局部去向他者各處），而身體與其內部運作的器官、甚至生命的毀壞，都被暫且拋在一旁，變成一種型號採用。
友人提及，寧文的臉像遊戲一般的「打地鼠」：在這個作品裡，他大大地翻動介面系統的工具，在一個不留意的片刻。其中一個他像是要走進銀幕彼端的此處，而瞬間老化。同時又像是在調聲控一般，瞬間老不去，反而回到更為年華的姿態。
我在看這支非常豐富的錄像時，感覺慾望可以像藝術般作假，而那並沒有違反真實。反而形成一個更高的標準化「審美」，不斷霧化、物化、慾望化，美肌不斷的對我們秀秀（show show)著，安慰著我們。如果將人與人之間的「溝通」推得更為遠端，那麼我們可以更汲汲營營地營造一個慾望的課題，而不必那麼考真。
這讓我想到最近推出的唱歌App：
你只要輸入一小段真實聲音，就能生成一個比內建更內建的綁定，不必真的去唱，也可以幫你運作出像是屬於你自己唱出的歌。
Hi您好..在「寧好」裡頭，替代的面向肉身與重塑的身分構造不只是技術的把戲，而是對「真實」與「慾望」關係的再編碼。
展覽中的身體、影像、Ai與觀眾彼此嵌合，不如說像是一場遊戲亦是夢一場。
像是運作一個持續運作的濾鏡工廠，生產的不只是影像，而是更新版本的「他我」。
當我一踏入伊日展場，如果對比我熟知的Ai虛擬實境的展覽現場，顯得格外的反骨或是純樸，有一個很意識流，乍看之下有點誤入陷阱，竟給我一種邀請走進藝術家王德瑜的作品裡的邀請。
但當那個頂天而下-籠罩其中如「膜」的包覆口袋表層侵襲而下時，像是一個持續不斷吞吐生成的分裂符號般的濾鏡，與進入侵略的「虎口」。
一旁還有不合時宜電風扇朝向裡頭「灌氣」，像是進入即「炸鍋」。一種將身體形成身影給吞噬其中，這個作品放在入門口有一個很強的邀請踏入的意識形態，它提供一個待身體進去捕捉，彷彿上方的投影形成具官能的消化器官之「液態化」。也像是一個被圈套了的蒙蔽身體，如夢如幻的給我警示，且審視身體的控制權的提「醒」。
彷彿當代的身體皆是醉了一般，進入一種集體幻覺。
這個如「膜」般的網羅，與錄像作品裡的畫面，提醒著我他好一段時間給出的密閉式360拍攝的情境體驗，彷彿每一刻皆降身體數據給上傳，影片裡提及作者的多個身分去往不同結界。有幾幕他的臉在放大的錄像頻幕不斷被消融，模糊的模糊化，最讓我感到別有新意的部分是把自己的日記發生的慾望工作場景像是拍紀錄片，又隱含著不同數位技術的糾纏攪和在一起。
回想友人提及，她覺得寧文的作品比起其他相近關注的新媒體展覽，其手法形式媒介語言顯得不暴力。我覺得現場許多其他媒介的載體更像去往雲端來返的「證物」，裡面更隱藏許多無法過去影像世界而可以真情流露的故事。
總體而言，這是一個需要反覆咀嚼的展覽，需要我們的身體力行。
文字書寫｜黃彥超 🥂
Hello, Ning Hao
Before the exhibition Ning Hao opened, Ning Wen messaged me asking: if on the opening day’s talk, who would I most want to see him in conversation with?
I replied: Betty Apple. But later he didn’t go with Betty Apple, instead he chose to “talk” with AI.
At that moment it was just something I blurted out, but thinking back… it felt like he had split himself apart, “transformed” into some strange filtered creature, then carried that strangeness back into reality.
It was like an existence flowing between virtual and real. I still remember Betty Apple later saying: Ning Wen already has a very strong AI feeling. On my way back from the show, I couldn’t help but think—watching an artist I knew so well constantly interacting with his AI double, it was as if he was wrestling with multiple versions of himself.
Those “other hims” turned from objects into subjects, reflexively fighting the real Ning Wen for the right to speak.
Ning Wen no longer felt like Ning Wen, even provoking me to question what the “real him” even was. The “real” one looked more like an AI persona in disguise.
It was as if he had been KO’d by AI codes that bind reality and virtuality, offering an alien reading, like a virus invading—projecting a gospel of unreality. Reality became a ruthless world waiting to be re-organized.
I remember on the opening day, I saw Ning Wen standing on a lift, like a foreman commanding his own platform of desire, yet at the same time being manipulated—like someone caught inside the arm of an image-machine.
Funny thing, he said his performance with AI wasn’t good (later joking it was AI that got stage fright).
Part of me found it amusing, part of me was shocked—AI really is unstoppable. It turned the act of watching into a new kind of divide in art reception. We suddenly looked like pitiful creatures in the collective unconscious of desire.
If you see “AI responding” versus “AI not responding” as a kind of aesthetic premise—
well, it already has taken over our lives, become a prosthetic technology that can reach deep into our id, sheltering us in a virtual body. From here, the exhibition’s visual imagery ties back—the aesthetics are like a multi-layered subjectivity. Watching the show was like knocking on the gates of different thresholds and passing through.
well, it already has taken over our lives, become a prosthetic technology that can reach deep into our id, sheltering us in a virtual body. From here, the exhibition’s visual imagery ties back—the aesthetics are like a multi-layered subjectivity. Watching the show was like knocking on the gates of different thresholds and passing through.
Like a giant board game, unlocking stage after stage. Like searching fragments of truth, jumping between viewpoints, a backstage hand pushing the front-stage desire platform.
It was less like watching a video, more like entering a photo studio where desire itself tries on different costumes behind a veil.
That passively and actively reminded me of childhood gender play and performance—like “house” games, or “paper dolls.”
In that moment, symbols of bodies stood equal, like logging into a signal world where you could swap heads, faces, body parts with others at will. The body and its organs, even the destruction of life itself, all set aside, turned into interchangeable models.
A friend said Ning Wen’s face looked like “Whac-A-Mole.” In this piece, he flipped the system interface so quickly that one version of him seemed to step through the screen and instantly age, while another version tuned his voice and suddenly reversed, returning to youthful form.
Watching this dense video, I felt desire can fake itself like art, yet it doesn’t betray reality. Instead, it creates a higher “aesthetic” standard—constantly fogging, objectifying, turning into desire. The beautified surfaces keep “show showing” us, soothing us. If human communication pushes further and further apart, maybe we’ll just keep fabricating topics of desire without worrying about truth.
This made me think of a new singing app:
you just input a short clip of your real voice, and it generates a song that sounds like you singing, without you actually singing at all.
you just input a short clip of your real voice, and it generates a song that sounds like you singing, without you actually singing at all.
Hi, Ning… inside Ning Hao, substitution of the flesh and reconstruction of identity isn’t just a technical trick, it’s a re-coding of the relation between “reality” and “desire.”
The bodies, images, AI, and viewers in the exhibition interlock—not just like a game, but like a dream.
Like a filter factory running nonstop, producing not only images but updated versions of “me.”
When I first stepped into YIRI’s gallery, compared to the high-tech VR shows I know, this one felt almost rebellious, even plain. It had a stream-of-consciousness vibe, like stumbling into a trap, even giving me the odd feeling of being invited into Wang Te-Yu’s works.
But then that overhead, membrane-like cover fell down, wrapping like a pocket surface. It kept generating symbols, splitting and swallowing, like a filter pulling me into the jaws of a tiger.
On the side, a fan awkwardly blew air inside, like things were about to “blow up.” It sucked in bodies like silhouettes, dissolving them, placed right at the entrance as a strong ideological invitation to step in. The projection above turned into a liquid digestive organ. Like a body trapped, it gave me both a warning and a reminder to question control over the body.
It felt like all contemporary bodies are drunk, caught in a collective hallucination.
That net-like membrane and the video images reminded me of his earlier 360° closed filming setups, like constantly uploading body data. In the video, multiple selves crossed different thresholds. At times his face dissolved in close-up, blurred away. The most striking moment was when his diary and desire-workplace turned into a documentary, entangled with layers of digital tech.
A friend said: compared to other new media shows on similar themes, Ning Wen’s work felt less violent. I agree. Many other mediums on site were like “evidence” shuttling to the cloud, but within them were hidden stories that video alone couldn’t touch—stories with raw emotion.
Overall, this is an exhibition that demands to be chewed on again and again, one that asks for our bodies to take part.
Written by | Huang Yen Chao
