Words: Selin Ciftci
"Time and place could have existed without us, not seeing us, not hearing us, leaving no trace."
As a form of thought, as an experience of existing and taking root in the earth, "place" is tired of all political, social, and economic impositions that render it lifeless. Pulled away from the grip of time and place, it strives to survive in the folds of a human brain, in the sparkle of a thought, in the coolness of a shadow. Looking back at those displaced ones, it seems they too are in search of a new form to take root, tracing the footsteps of other thoughts that could free "place" from time and space.
To some, "place" is grasped through experience and movement, while to others, it takes the form of language, morphing infinitely and constantly recreating itself. Therefore, when asked "Who is the most important person you have met?" Etel Adnan answers, "A mountain." For Etel, "place" is the Mount Tamalpais, seen daily from her window, swelling at three in the afternoon with colors and sharp shadows, growing and becoming fuller, or as we know it, transforming in the delicately painted daily sunsets. The translation of this landscape onto the canvas captures a longing for Lebanon's glittering sun to the colors of its days. At the same time, it carries the responsibility of, in a sense, belonging to another country’s earth, and it cradles Etel while opening a place for her.
In the traditional language of Chinese landscape painting, shanshui, there are traces of a similar "placement". Since the 5th century, the extensive preparation process for painting in Chinese culture has involved delicate materials such as ink stones, rice paper, and silk fabrics. Due to this long process, a Chinese painter can only bring a landscape to life in their imagination under suitable conditions. In this sense, the Chinese painters, in contrast to Monet who meticulously captured every state of the water lilies in his garden, can find "place" for the landscape only in their dreams. The Shan Shui Reboot exhibition at the China Institute Gallery reexamines this traditional language amidst changing world landscapes. In this exhibition where every artist interprets the landscape according to their own placement practices, Lam Tung Pang explores the new dream/fiction language of "place" with The Dictionary of Landscape. Through his Moon-mounted work, he places the Moon at the center of his search for "place" between his native Hong Kong and adopted Canada. He places The Moon into the realm of thought by using its independent geographical position, its constant presence wherever he goes.
What sets "place" apart from space and frees it from time is precisely this. It is the state where a place approaches a thought, an idea, a feeling, a dream. A liberated place generates its own knowledge: The scent you encounter when stepping into your grandmother's house; the evening breeze in the garden on a summer night; the relief that comes with hearing the ferry whistle; the red specks and arabesque prints on a white tea saucer… Not every "place" is a space, and not every space can be a "place." When space loses the experience and movement it once provided, it ceases to be a "place." "Non-place" becomes soulless, devoid of meaning, experience, and practicality.
As a continuation of generations deceived by urbanization's glorification of apartment beautifications, we are indeed familiar with the concept of "non-place." I believe it's because we live in a conservative-minded society that displacement still maintains its popularity today. Displacement manifests itself sometimes as a shopping mall resembling a contextless, fusty, stale cream cake that has replaced a deliberately demolished cinema, the latter a place that could generate its own knowledge, or as office towers replacing a city stadium, doomed to lose their function in the new world order. "Non-place" devoid of abilities struggles ineptly to generate the knowledge of place.
Without the perspective of locals, new ferries that have started to serve the Bosporus, coastal landfill areas with their repetitive, memorized landscapes (from trash bins to tree gaps), or Kabatas' new pier project, proceeding with a non-transparent, uncommunicative process without pioneering any major features of its region such as transportation, city skyline, or interaction with water, lack the "place" and the capabilities to produce its knowledge.
The faux leather seats of the ferry cling to my legs. It's too hot to sit outside or even order tea. In front of me, the silhouette of Istanbul. If I return home and carefully unpack and prepare my delicate materials, could I, even in my dreams, place myself into this landscape? In this extended landscape could I find a "place" for myself, independent of time and space, like Etel Adnan's mountain or Lam Tung Pang's moon?
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