| The main concept for Yang Jun’s solo exhibition, Paris Syndrome, included not only the video installation Paris Syndrome (which is most akin to usual works meant for exhibitions) but also the infrastructure and interior design for the gallery, which created a living space that invited one and all to enter a new possible living environment, to not only view works but to try things out. The presence of items such as tables, chairs, lights, plants, walls, ceramics, and billboard advertisements became essential in the foundation of the space. Upon encountering these objects and using them, you would discover that the wood grain of the table was actually a sticker; the chairs were made from fiberglass coatings of seats at public bus stops; legs of chairs were mock design by contemporary American designer Eames. |  |
Hu Fang
Yang Jun’s Paris Syndrome was on view at Vitamin Creative Space in April.
Yang Jun, Paris Syndrome, 2007. Video still, 10 Minutes. Courtesy of Vitamin Creative Space.Paris Syndrome is a psychological disorder, diagnosed on Japanese people working or on vacation in Paris. It is a trauma stemming from the inability to reconcile between their dream image and the harsh reality of Paris—Paris as a city of fairy tale, the symbol of love and romance. Paris Syndrome is a kind of negative cultural shock when Dream meets Reality.—Yang Jun
The main concept for Yang Jun’s solo exhibition, Paris Syndrome, included not only the video installation Paris Syndrome (which is most akin to usual works meant for exhibitions) but also the infrastructure and interior design for the gallery, which created a living space that invited one and all to enter a new possible living environment, to not only view works but to try things out. The presence of items such as tables, chairs, lights, plants, walls, ceramics, and billboard advertisements became essential in the foundation of the space. Upon encountering these objects and using them, you would discover that the wood grain of the table was actually a sticker; the chairs were made from fiberglass coatings of seats at public bus stops; legs of chairs were mock design by contemporary American designer Eames. You would notice that the lamps hanging down were adapted from common lamps and lanterns used by street hawkers and grocers in Guangzhou; that the indoor plants were actually created by the artist himself using paper. The phrase “Tomorrow Will Be Better” was installed in the same manner as one would for an outdoor advertisement—except it was indoors here. The entire gallery became a space between the living domain and the exhibition area.
The works in the gallery were not only meant for viewing, but also for using. They concurrently included practical and functional significance in everyday life as well as a more conceptual commentary about the misuse or mélange of these items. To Yang, it is precisely this confounding contradiction and dilemma that creates new understandings and experiences in daily life, as well as conceptual leaps into the unknown. Through this process, disparate and seemingly incompatible logic systems for everyday living can be interweaved. What comprised the surface can now be the content. What is real or fake no longer matters. With this process comes a new experience of survival—both on a real, tangible level of meaning as well as a conceptual one—and become a new way of creating life. What Yang presented to us was precisely drawn from his personal experiences, which create a living environment that is “better”—one he has chosen for himself, one he can be confident of, and one we can all attain. Through viewing and using these objects, people would be able to absorb the signals that this space sent forth, in terms of what they could “think” and “do.”
We hope that through Paris Syndrome, we could reach for a “Tomorrow (that) Will Be Better.” Perhaps this tomorrow exists in the present moment, before our eyes.
