As the name suggests, we have conceived and constructed the gallery itself as a complete “art fair booth.” Art fairs, with their efficient pace and concentrated energy, form an indispensable part of the contemporary art landscape. They bring together creativity, spark dialogue, and provide invaluable opportunities for institutions and the public to connect. While we gladly participate in this art season, we also find ourselves contemplating: as a gallery with a permanent space in the local context, can we simultaneously offer an alternative rhythm—a “nearby” that allows the gaze to linger and encourages deeper conversation? Can we create a more unhurried “parallel site,” where exchanges, within a familiar physical space, develop a different texture? “Booth M56″ is precisely such an exploration.

“M56″ is not only our geographical anchor since 2007 but also the conceptual pivot of this project. We have invited twelve artists to place their works—diverse in style and medium—within this deliberately constructed “booth” context. Here, each piece maintains its independent expression while also serving as a component in building this “simulated booth” environment. By replicating the spatial atmosphere and visual logic of an art fair, we aim to invite the audience into a realm that is both familiar and unfamiliar—one that bears the shell of an art fair yet retains the inherent essence of an art space.

This is not a form of resistance but rather an active act of “sampling” and response. We extract a typical unit of the art ecosystem and place it back into a stable environment where it can be contemplated at length. This prompts us to reflect: when stripped of the scale, crowds, and transactional pressures of an art fair, how might the communication between art and its audience transform? Will the essence of the artworks become more pronounced?

This year marks the 18th anniversary of M Art Center. Eighteen symbolizes adulthood, suggesting maturity and steadiness. Yet, “maturity” can sometimes bring reliance on established paths and hesitation in exploration—for an art space, eighteen years old is still young. Therefore, at this juncture, we have chosen to embark on an “immature” practice: with the joy and solemnity of something newborn, we transform ourselves into a booth, posing a gentle question both inwardly (to our spatial history) and outwardly (to the industry’s display mechanisms).

This exhibition is our offering of an “immature coming-of-age ceremony.” It is both a tribute to the perseverance of the past eighteen years and an expression of our hope for the future—to always remain open, reflective, and experimental in spirit.

We cordially invite you to “Booth M56.” In this unique site we have built for ourselves and for you, let us collectively experience, feel, and engage in this dialogue about art, space, and viewing.

By Gu Zheng

Viewing Stanley Fung’s photography, it is impossible not to think of a series of statements by Martin Buber, a German philosopher of modern religion, in his classic book Ich und Du, which I studied early. However, when I reread it this time, I felt nothing necessary could be said about Fung’s photography. Although Buber’s discussion of the “I-Thou” relationship didn’t refer to photography with even one word, it seems to have fully understood the mystery of the “I-Thou” relationship embodied in Fung’s portrait photography. Honestly, I am terrified of narrowing Buber’s universal and inclusive “I-Thou” discourse by my understanding. Still, paradoxically, it applies so well to Fung’s portrait photography practice, thus further proving the universality of Buber’s philosophy.

Photography, particularly portraiture, is a fundamental way to be acquainted with people. This approach is also a process of knowing, understanding, and comprehending between the photographer and sitter. Portrait photography is also an attempt to transform the object from the pure other into the integrity of “I” and “Thou”, which contain each other simultaneously. This process may fail when the photographer lets go of the ego and tries to accept the other entirely. Still, it is incredibly vital for those who love others by photography. As Buber said, “It is itself ready on every occasion to become Thou for them, and open up the world of Thou—no; it is not ready: it continually approaches and touches them.” (Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor Smith, Hesperides Press, 2008, p.42) With peace and serenity, people in Fung’s photos have superficial and external differences. Yet, they are all the sublimation and transcendence of photographer Stanley Fung after getting close to and touching the people in front of him through photography and rebuilding the “I-Thou” relationship.

“(So too in art:) form is disclosed to the artist as he beholds what confronts him. He conjures it into a structure” (Ibid., p.41). In a sense, portrait photography is the art of how the photographer “lights up” the subject. The premise of “lighting” is to create the possibility of contemplating for each other and then achieve the goal of irradiating the object to “disclose” themselves. Portraiture is the art of contemplating. Contemplating, namely the dialogue and the awakening of each other is the exchange of minds and a way to achieve a new spiritual understanding and conservation of spiritual energy. Through constant encounters with others, Fung’s portraiture unfolds a persistent dialogue as an intermediary to transfer and distribute the power of the transcendent to the subject while also sharing the glory from the opposite, thus shaping a new “I-Thou” relationship.

Through photography, Stanley Fung passed on the beauty of joy and encounters in meeting others. His pictures are a reflection of the beauty of encounters. Stanley Fung uses portrait photography to confront others and creates opportunities for us, as viewers, to encounter them (Fung, as viewers, and those whom Fung beholds and then we “see”). It is a complex distribution and flow of spiritual energy, but it ultimately leads us to see ourselves. It is the supreme cheerfulness of contemplation. “…but look! round about you being live their life, and to whatever point you turn you come upon being.” (Ibid., p.15)

By the way, the Chinese title of Buber’s Ich und Du is generally translated as I and You (《我与你》). I have no objection to this translation. But when I first read Buber’s book in its Japanese version, I とThou (《我と汝》), the title (and translation) had become so ingrained in my psyche that I could not accept the more crisp term of “I and you”. Therefore, when I, as the curator, quoted Buber’s title as the name of the exhibition, I decided to choose the translation of “I and Thou”(“我与汝”). Please forgive my waywardness; it is also a small memorial to my spiritual journey.

The dense jungle and the trees are right there, flourishing and declining, unaffected by human observation. They don’t wait for our entry nor do they reject our steps. They remain forever mysterious and enchanting. “Lost in Forest” primarily features two series of works, “Tree” and “Latent Image”, showcasing a unique forest, an object landscape that highlights subjective cognition. “Tree” incorporates ink into images, creating hand-dyed works that not only contain the rich details that photography can capture but also present the charm of painting. The installation work “Latent Image” refers to the 19th-century animation device “Kaiser Panorama,” hinting at “tree holes,” “viewfinders,” and “slides,” reorienting the mode of viewing back into the heart of the jungle.

“Xuan” literally means black, which means mysterious in Chinese. The saying goes, “Profoundly mysterious(black), the gateway to all wonders.” FU Bailin skillfully uses black to create a rich and mysterious visual experience, forming a tension between objective imagery and the absolute subjectivity of image processing. This tension is also evident in the act of viewing: subtle and immersive tones come forward, distinct from ordinary recognition or scrutiny. It’s more like a whispering exchange between the viewer and the image.

Preface

As a “worshipper” of photography, FU Bailin is enamored with every step of the process, from capturing the image to printing it. He pays meticulous attention to every detail. It is precisely because of this, even after experimenting with almost every technique, he remained unsatisfied. This led him to venture into the realm of cross-media such as painting, installations, and imagery, marking a new phase of experimentation.

The rarely-trodden glaciers, deep forests, and vast wilderness have consistently been one of FU Bailin’s central themes in his creations. Over the past decade, he has carried his camera like a prehistoric anthropologist or archaeologist, venturing alone into various uninhabited terrains. From different perspectives, he captures the awe-inspiring landscapes and sceneries.

The deep forests and trees form the foundation of the “Tree” series. If photography is considered the first step in the artist’s creation, then the development process can be seen as a second phase of artistic endeavor. What sets FU Bailin apart is his use of the “bright room, darkroom” technique, which imparts a unique grayscale and texture to the images. He incorporates multi-layered ink diffusion and meticulous detailing, drawing inspiration from the brushwork of Song and Yuan Dynasty landscape paintings. This breaks the existing visual order, rendering the entire composition flatter, akin to a black montage rushing towards you. Yet, upon closer inspection, it seems to create a series of mysterious and profound realms, conveying a sense of scholarly composure and transcendence. Rather than expanding photography, one might argue that this is a return to the essence of photography itself. It’s worth noting that as early as the mid-19th century, shortly after the invention of photography, the Englishman William H. F. Talbot likened photography to a “photogenic drawing.” In other words, fundamentally, photography is also a form of painting.

Certainly, what photography as a form of painting offers us is not just a new “technique of depiction” and aesthetics, but also a new way of viewing. The image “Latent Image” “returns” or “restores” the state of egolessness that the artist experienced while photographing in the deep forest. The eponymous installation, through the capture of spiritual diffusion, attempts to immerse the viewer in the act of gazing. Although the latter draws reference from the 19th-century animation device “Kaiser Panorama,” FU Bailin’s diligent pursuit of immersion and contemplation—including painting in this context—is fundamentally anti-photographic and counter-image-essentialist. In this sense, this quietly accomplished series of cross-media practices is not only a visual archaeology of photography, but also a contemporary reconstruction of photography.
—— LU Mingjun

Spring is mighty.

It is fierce and cruel. It thrives and continues to rage, without stopping for anything or anyone.

Aqin knows it. She believes her drawing is too slow to catch up with the pace of time. The flowers and fruits are withering as she paints. Her process is to outline what quickly fades first, leaving the enduring therafter, and finally painting the stems and leaf blades. And so, the flowers, branches, and leaves in one painting are drawn at different times, forming a sycnchronic presentation of duration evolution. Still lives of the 17th century also possesses this quality. For instance, the painter would combine flowers from different seasons together to present vividness with observations and memories. However Aqin cannot. Follow this process as she is very restrained in using watercolors, and there has no editing through portraying the areas. Her loyalty to details and textures determines the time required. She is very honest in her paintings: each petal and each corner of the tablecloth is scrupulous with no special treatment or special favors; just like what the spring breeze does when passing through the leaves.

The word “Stilleven” is created by the Dutch in the 17th century. It consists of stil (still) and leven (life), two seemingly contradictory words in Dutch that build a crucial branch of painting. The keyword in the tradition of stilleven is “time”: delicate bouquets, fresh fruits, and glass or ceramic containers. However, all the extremely glorious, magnificent, and fragile things are so quickly gone.

The attitude towards time in Stilleven in the 17th century is the “warning of vanity,” but Aqin’s still life does not have such a philosophical burden. Her glasses are nothing more than containers of branches and vines rather than fancy breakables. In terms of perception and experience, the perspective and light and shadow have no rigorous methods, making her paintings look flat, without dimension like occasional scenes in Pompeii frescoes at a state of leisure (another state related to time) after fulfilling the desires. Time here has no potential energy to take a worse turn; it is a contemplation that does not mind changes. Authenticity reveals and simplicity promotes, embodying a lovable feature.

There is still some time of warmth between a mother and her son. Aqin’s son, You Yong, is an occupational painter. His studio is in Beijing, next to the Chinese Academy of Oil Painting. She was supposed to take care of her son in Beijing, yet holding the paintbrushes is a mother’s decision of inspiration. Longtime company nourishes her silently developing the horizon of life. Aiqin has always been on this horizon, so it is a must for her to paint. After all, the good company enables one to find the path, and painting is a way to accompany the self. Just put away the bowls and plates, lay the tablecloth, change the foods into fruits and knickknacks, turn off the heat, step from the kitchen to the pergola and sit…there has no so-called sense of occasion. With sunlight coming from the south window, this is the spring that belongs to a woman.

People bloom at different times, but they all have a period preparing for the fruit to arrive , the flowers, leaves, and branches climbing on the pergola set the stage.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:A time to be born, and a time to die;A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to keep, and a time to throw away. Countless springs pass through her like brushstrokes moving on paper calmly without any rush or regret.

Once, our spring was lost, the cycle interrupted.

To prosper ourselves is to rectify the world.