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');
const nextButton = document.querySelector('.next-post');
// 監聽鍵盤事件
document.addEventListener('keydown', function(event) {
// 判斷按下的按鍵
if (event.key === 'ArrowLeft' && prevButton) { // 檢查 prevButton 是否存在
if (prevButton.href) { // 檢查 prevButton 是否具有 href 屬性
// 觸發上一篇連結
window.location.href = prevButton.href;
}
} else if (event.key === 'ArrowRight' && nextButton) { // 檢查 nextButton 是否存在
if (nextButton.href) { // 檢查 nextButton 是否具有 href 屬性
// 觸發下一篇連結
window.location.href = nextButton.href;
}
}
});
});中EN日
document.addEventListener('DOMContentLoaded', function() {
// 取得隱藏的 WPML 語言選擇器
var wpmlLanguageSwitcher = document.querySelector('.wpml-ls-statics-shortcode_actions ul');
// 取得你的菜單
var yourMenu = document.querySelector('.lang-link-container');
// 檢查 WPML 語言選擇器是否存在
if (wpmlLanguageSwitcher && yourMenu) {
// 處理 ZH
var zhItem = wpmlLanguageSwitcher.querySelector('.wpml-ls-item-zh-hant');
var zhMenuItem = yourMenu.querySelector('.lang-link-ZH');
if (zhItem && zhMenuItem) {
var zhLink = zhItem.querySelector('a');
zhMenuItem.href = zhLink.href;
if (zhItem.classList.contains('wpml-ls-current-language')) {
zhMenuItem.classList.add('current-page-lang');
}
} else {
zhMenuItem.style.display = 'none';
}
// 處理 EN
var enItem = wpmlLanguageSwitcher.querySelector('.wpml-ls-item-en');
var enMenuItem = yourMenu.querySelector('.lang-link-EN');
if (enItem && enMenuItem) {
var enLink = enItem.querySelector('a');
enMenuItem.href = enLink.href;
if (enItem.classList.contains('wpml-ls-current-language')) {
enMenuItem.classList.add('current-page-lang');
}
} else {
enMenuItem.style.display = 'none';
}
// 處理 JA
var jaItem = wpmlLanguageSwitcher.querySelector('.wpml-ls-item-ja');
var jaMenuItem = yourMenu.querySelector('.lang-link-JA');
if (jaItem && jaMenuItem) {
var jaLink = jaItem.querySelector('a');
jaMenuItem.href = jaLink.href;
if (jaItem.classList.contains('wpml-ls-current-language')) {
jaMenuItem.classList.add('current-page-lang');
}
} else {
jaMenuItem.style.display = 'none';
}
}
});jQuery(document).ready(function($) {
var header = $('.singlework-header');
var headerHeight = header.outerHeight();
var isHeaderVisible = false;
var scrollThreshold = 10; //定滾動多少 px 才會觸發
var lastScrollTop = 0;
var headerContainer = $('.singlework-page');
var scrollTimeout = null; //向上滾動時,延遲多久才會顯示
$(window).on('load', function() {
header.css('top', -headerHeight + 'px');
});
$(document).mousemove(function(event) {
if (event.pageY < 50 && !isHeaderVisible) {
showHeader();
}
});
headerContainer.scroll(function() {
var scrollTop = $(this).scrollTop();
var delta = scrollTop - lastScrollTop; // 計算滾動方向
if (!isHeaderVisible) {
// 向上滾動超過閾值時,延遲顯示 header
if (delta < 0 && Math.abs(delta) > scrollThreshold) {
if (scrollTimeout) {
clearTimeout(scrollTimeout);
}
scrollTimeout = setTimeout(function() {
showHeader();
}, 150);
}
} else {
// **只有向下滾動時才關閉 header**
if (delta > 0 && Math.abs(delta) > scrollThreshold) {
hideHeader();
}
}
lastScrollTop = scrollTop;
});
$(document).click(function(event) {
if (!$(event.target).closest('.singlework-header').length && isHeaderVisible) {
hideHeader();
}
});
function showHeader() {
header.addClass('show');
isHeaderVisible = true;
}
function hideHeader() {
header.removeClass('show');
isHeaderVisible = false;
}
});Storm Room
false
document.addEventListener("DOMContentLoaded", function() {
// 獲取 meta field 的隱藏元素
let metaFieldElement = document.querySelector(".singlework-pure-en-title-switcher");
// 獲取 .singlework-title 標題
let postTitle = document.querySelector(".singlework-title");
// 確保 metaFieldElement 和 postTitle 存在
if (metaFieldElement && postTitle) {
// 讀取 meta field 的值並去除前後空格
let metaValue = metaFieldElement.innerText.trim().toLowerCase();
// 如果 meta field 值是 "true",則將字距設為 0
if (metaValue === "true") {
postTitle.style.letterSpacing = "0";
}
}
});2017
Painting Installation
Entering the exhibition space of Storm Room is like being enveloped by some non-verbal air current. The white walls are occupied by pencil strokes, countless swirling marks, broken brushstrokes, and stacked trajectories flowing through each other. This is not just a room, but a space filled with the sensation of “wind”: invisible, yet with density; without form, but leaving traces. These traces are the “forces” that children bring out with their bodies, pens, and paper—neither about depiction nor representation, but rather the way wind “happens” in perception, appearing in its still-warm state of formation.
The images here were not drawn by the artist, but are the responses of dozens of first-grade children. The artist simply posed one question: “Do you know what wind looks like?” and invited them to “draw wind” in their own way. During this process, not directed by learning but by engagement, the moment the first stroke landed, the air quietly rose in the space. The children’s engagement gathered feelings from all directions, swirling and spiraling within the room, ultimately enveloping all present. The paper became filled with countless movements: the brushstrokes had no template, no regard for conclusions, only a continuous action approaching an unnameable feeling—wind taking shape in sensation.
The lines seem to trace unnamed ancestors in the image-formation process, not types clipped from paradigms, nor simulations of visible reality, but pulses of original perception. The pen is not a tool but an extension of impulse; the paper is not a static surface but a responsive one, reacting to potential energy. One child scratches the floor with a pen, another spins endlessly on the paper, each stroke an impromptu attempt to sketch the invisible—wind.
In this work, the artist’s role is not in creation but in designing the conditions of generation and maintaining the ethical relationships involved. He does not preset the image, nor intervene in the brushstrokes, but designs a space and relational field where each piece of paper speaks without the need for uniformity. This is a transfer of aesthetic ethics with a decentralized view: giving visible power to a subject yet to establish a system of viewing—belonging to no one, yet permeating each participant. The viewer is also drawn into this movement, no longer simply a judge or observer, but a co-creator of the perceptual field—participating in the storm amidst uncertainty and multiplicity.
If A Wind Blowing in Nothing prompted us to reconsider the conditions of “seeing” within the gaps of images, Storm Room pushes the act of viewing back to its primal sensory movement: a generative state before it is named or stabilized as an image. This installation can be understood as both a spatial painting and an unfinished sensory ecosystem. It arises from the unfiltered energy of the children and from the artist’s profound reflection on ethical relationships. At the same time, it is important to note that the work is not a romantic myth about “creativity,” but an aesthetic assertion that brings the yet-to-be-named differences into visibility—wind is not in the image, wind is the very process through which everything happens.
The images here were not drawn by the artist, but are the responses of dozens of first-grade children. The artist simply posed one question: “Do you know what wind looks like?” and invited them to “draw wind” in their own way. During this process, not directed by learning but by engagement, the moment the first stroke landed, the air quietly rose in the space. The children’s engagement gathered feelings from all directions, swirling and spiraling within the room, ultimately enveloping all present. The paper became filled with countless movements: the brushstrokes had no template, no regard for conclusions, only a continuous action approaching an unnameable feeling—wind taking shape in sensation.
The lines seem to trace unnamed ancestors in the image-formation process, not types clipped from paradigms, nor simulations of visible reality, but pulses of original perception. The pen is not a tool but an extension of impulse; the paper is not a static surface but a responsive one, reacting to potential energy. One child scratches the floor with a pen, another spins endlessly on the paper, each stroke an impromptu attempt to sketch the invisible—wind.
In this work, the artist’s role is not in creation but in designing the conditions of generation and maintaining the ethical relationships involved. He does not preset the image, nor intervene in the brushstrokes, but designs a space and relational field where each piece of paper speaks without the need for uniformity. This is a transfer of aesthetic ethics with a decentralized view: giving visible power to a subject yet to establish a system of viewing—belonging to no one, yet permeating each participant. The viewer is also drawn into this movement, no longer simply a judge or observer, but a co-creator of the perceptual field—participating in the storm amidst uncertainty and multiplicity.
If A Wind Blowing in Nothing prompted us to reconsider the conditions of “seeing” within the gaps of images, Storm Room pushes the act of viewing back to its primal sensory movement: a generative state before it is named or stabilized as an image. This installation can be understood as both a spatial painting and an unfinished sensory ecosystem. It arises from the unfiltered energy of the children and from the artist’s profound reflection on ethical relationships. At the same time, it is important to note that the work is not a romantic myth about “creativity,” but an aesthetic assertion that brings the yet-to-be-named differences into visibility—wind is not in the image, wind is the very process through which everything happens.
2026 CopyRight ©







