Speculative Sonic

Under a system of random inspection and disposal, the unforeseeable nature of fate drives one into “learned helplessness.” It is then that the “inversion” occurs: the camouflage once meant to protect the self turns into a suffocating shell that binds the subject. In the collective torrent of countless colliding capsule toys, the individual—just to avoid being jammed—retreats into a “spiral of silence,” letting the noise devour the instinct to speak. Active adaptation is inverted into passive speechlessness; the tool that protects the self is inverted into the murderer that strangles it.

This performance seeks to embody that passage from mimicry to inversion, posing an open question and invitation: when the labels and shells that protect the self are allowed to crack and peel away, can we willingly lower our defenses in the original silence, and listen to that unadorned, purest breath of the real?

The character 回 (“return”) is a mouth within a mouth, a thing held within an enclosure—much like the experience of the small self. People are trapped inside words, competing with others for advancement and success, enduring long hardship and pressure, as if spinning in ignorance and trudging forward under a heavy load. Yet is this situation real—or an illusion created by dimension?

We believe that if one can cultivate the spirit of wabi-sabi—settling stray thoughts, clearing the mind, and embracing setbacks and imperfection—then what at first seems disordered and chaotic can turn into blossoming flowers; the soul that has passed through hardship reaches a higher dimension. Seen from above, life is like a finely cut record: those rugged, undulating paths exist to sound a resonant melody, the journey at last in order, expanding into perfect concentric circles.

As the melody moves toward its close, one arrives—carrying this realization—at the next life: a new chapter begins, and once again, beginningless ignorance—

Centered on the weight of growth, the work explores how life is shaped by external actions and emotions as we grow up. It treats growth as a continuous accumulation: every encouragement, companionship, denial, or hurt may leave a trace. As time advances, it gradually sculpts different forms of growth, reflecting how a self is formed amid being cared for, expected of, controlled, and understood. The work invites the audience to reconsider how much emotional weight from the past we carry today—and how that weight keeps shaping who we are now.

The essence of “communication” lies in closing the distance between people; and under a cosmic, macroscopic view, distance itself signifies a gap in time. If we could communicate with our past selves (including past lives) or our future selves (the next life), might we also grow ever closer to those selves across time and space?

The story begins with a message from the past, quietly opening a long journey across time and space. We step into a deep tunnel of time; with each step we draw nearer to our former self, until at last we meet. After this encounter, a ripple stirs within: if we could, would we too—in this very moment—long to leave a message to reach our future selves?

Why does a honeycomb slowly get squeezed from its original soft, independent circles into hexagons? Because the hexagon makes the fullest use of space and leaves the fewest gaps, making the whole structure more efficient and better suited to sharing. The circle is like personal space with its own boundary; but as space begins to be compressed, once-independent spaces link together and finally form a collective system.

We wanted to apply this transformation to future urban life. As cities grow ever more crowded and space ever more limited, people too may become like the hive—independent circular dwellings forced to mutate into tightly packed hexagonal cells. In such an environment, will efficiency gradually come to matter more than people’s need for a home? And once “private space” is treated as inefficient, even unnecessary, how can human individuality still exist?

“巢厝” (nest-house) is at once “潮厝” (a house of the trend) and “巢剉” (a nest worn away). The character “剉” carries the sense of paring down and erasure—what we seek to convey: the structural disorder of contemporary housing trends and the wearing-away of individual character.