YE SIANJIE
/* 新增鍵盤左右鍵切換作品的功能 */
document.addEventListener('DOMContentLoaded', function() {
// 取得按鈕元素
const prevButton = document.querySelector('.prev-post');
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if (event.key === 'ArrowLeft' && prevButton) { // 檢查 prevButton 是否存在
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// 檢查 WPML 語言選擇器是否存在
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var scrollThreshold = 10; //定滾動多少 px 才會觸發
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var headerContainer = $('.singlework-page');
var scrollTimeout = null; //向上滾動時,延遲多久才會顯示
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header.css('top', -headerHeight + 'px');
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if (event.pageY < 50 && !isHeaderVisible) {
showHeader();
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// 向上滾動超過閾值時,延遲顯示 header
if (delta < 0 && Math.abs(delta) > scrollThreshold) {
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function hideHeader() {
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});City Night
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});2012
Concrete, wood, resin
80.5 x 238.5cm
City Night presents the silent façade of a metropolis—a grid of over three hundred concrete modules, each cast from the same abstracted window form. These apertures are not openings to an interior, nor do they reflect or reveal; they offer neither entry nor exit. Like an emotionless dataset, this structure unfolds with meticulous rhythm, recalling a city skyline at night, or a spectral diagram of signal frequencies—dense, ordered, and utterly devoid of warmth.
Here, the artist suspends the city from its lived context. Urban space is no longer about mobility or experience, but flattened into a pure surface composed entirely of outward-facing windows. These windows are not traces of domestic life, but standardized units of urban skin—abandoned terminals of connection, flickering signals now severed.
The work’s grayscale variations, subtle in their material difference, compose a visual rhythm akin to the silhouette of high-rises against the sky, or the digital hum of data scrolling past. The image evokes both a close-up of urban density and an abstract interface of information: too crowded to read, too regular to be expressive. Each module becomes a possible point of sound—or of silence.
City Night offers no access. You stand before it, but cannot enter. It is not opaque, nor is it closed; it is simply over-articulated to the point of void. This is not a wall of secrets, but of signal overflow. The closer you approach, the more your position dissolves—like standing before a façade, hearing your breath bounce back, yet feeling no body to receive it.
This mode of viewing becomes one of abstraction, of solitude without correspondence. The work tells no story, offers no opening, makes no demand. It simply stands—an enormous wall of mute information, compressing the multiplicity of urban lives into an impersonal matrix. You know that behind every window there could be a story, a presence, a light—but the piece forbids proximity. It is not cruel, but something more distant still: a quiet metric of disconnection, a lattice of unreachable points between self and city, between one body and another.
Here, the artist suspends the city from its lived context. Urban space is no longer about mobility or experience, but flattened into a pure surface composed entirely of outward-facing windows. These windows are not traces of domestic life, but standardized units of urban skin—abandoned terminals of connection, flickering signals now severed.
The work’s grayscale variations, subtle in their material difference, compose a visual rhythm akin to the silhouette of high-rises against the sky, or the digital hum of data scrolling past. The image evokes both a close-up of urban density and an abstract interface of information: too crowded to read, too regular to be expressive. Each module becomes a possible point of sound—or of silence.
City Night offers no access. You stand before it, but cannot enter. It is not opaque, nor is it closed; it is simply over-articulated to the point of void. This is not a wall of secrets, but of signal overflow. The closer you approach, the more your position dissolves—like standing before a façade, hearing your breath bounce back, yet feeling no body to receive it.
This mode of viewing becomes one of abstraction, of solitude without correspondence. The work tells no story, offers no opening, makes no demand. It simply stands—an enormous wall of mute information, compressing the multiplicity of urban lives into an impersonal matrix. You know that behind every window there could be a story, a presence, a light—but the piece forbids proximity. It is not cruel, but something more distant still: a quiet metric of disconnection, a lattice of unreachable points between self and city, between one body and another.
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