Memory is like a dusty storehouse, where old forgotten things turn up when you least expect. Sometimes you don’t even know what meaning they hold anymore, but there they are. Quietly, a hand reaches out and links them with the present day.
Zeng Xiaofeng’s works record and depict the history of his time and his individual spiritual history with extraordinary precision. Astonishingly, these two narrative dimensions are often entangled and emerge together within a single work.
The viewer may think this text has meaning, but that is an illusion. What I want to convey is the inside of the box. The inside cannot be seen, and the outside is an illusion. It is like this with life as well.