︎︎︎下拉至中文
Mothering
29/11/2025- 14/02/2026
PHD Group, Hong Kong, CN
Chan Ting, Michele Chu, Liao Wen, Yuko Mohri, Sasaoka Yuriko, Tan Jing, Pam Virada, Wang Xu, Xi Jiu, and Zheng Mahler
At first, we tried to kill them, these spindly fingers of green and bruised purple. Emerging from the raw concrete and creeping over the pipes and railings, they took hold of the gallery’s exterior rooftop space, untouched by typhoons and droughts. For how long they had been there, we didn’t know—but we saw how fast they grew, and we were afraid.
They were surprisingly easy to uproot, requiring nothing more than a sharp tug that revealed shallow roots attached to a pile of dust. One summer, we spent hours inspecting every crevice of the rooftop, mechanically erasing any trace of these plants. But the next month, they all grew back.
We looked up the species: mother of thousands. We learned that the plant propagates vegetatively by growing plantlets on its leaf margins, the offspring developing tiny roots before falling off onto the ground. Exhausted by their desire to survive, we let them be, allowing them to grow along the walls and in our plant pots.
Two years ago, not long after our last group exhibition “Tendering,” we noticed some of them growing spiky buds. In March, they opened to magenta flower bells, the petals slender and luminous. Mysteriously, after blooming, the plants then withered and died. We read that this often happens after the mother expends an enormous amount of energy producing flowers, giving this process a special name: the death bloom.
We came upon the title for the exhibition, “Mothering,” while questioning the nature of time and its strange generative possibilities. Socially, we think of mothering and the process of birth and life as miraculous—a narrative of convenience that erases women’s labor and reduces their bodies to vessels—and yet there is always something unforgiving in growth. To give form to life, you cannot elide violence and grief, conflict and loss. Growth is never merely conceptual; it is bodily, an unfamiliar visitor to the self, often humbling, sometimes frightening.
It is a paradox that we all experience: to heal, we must grow, but to grow, we must endure. Our group exhibitions have always been opportunities for us to meditate and reflect on our space and its purpose, a brief respite from the operational grind of openings and closings, fairs and travels. In examining the work of the artists we surround ourselves with, we find introspective turns within each practice, a homage to the invisible, sometimes more-than-human elements that give form to new life. To mother is to birth, to nurture, and to seek alternate, sometimes even painful, paths of growth—we are reminded of the tiny plantlets that fall from the parent, bright-white roots already attached, ready to begin again.
Photo by ©️Felix SC Wong
About the featured work
Liao Wen
Bulbous Belly
2025
Maple Burl wood, water hose clamp,
steel wedges, sketchbook, nickel beads,
stainless steel
25 x 23 x 16.5 cm
“For this new sculpture, Liao Wen examines the changing body in relation to the self. A Maple Burl wood, extracted from a tree trunk, is violently strapped with a water hose clamp, a tool typically used to seal a leak or secure a pipe in place. Yet against the naturally formed and stiff burl, the restrictive device is merely decorative, revealing a desire to repress and bind but the inability to act. A set of steel wedges is driven into the swollen surface, further expressing this frustration; on the backside, small nickel beads are pressed into carved holes, evoking the uncanny feeling that an unfamiliar growth is forming within.”
Ysabelle Cheung
起初，我們試圖鏟除這些纖弱的綠植——那些帶着淤紫色斑點的細長枝葉。它們從粗礪的水泥縫裏鑽出，沿着管道與欄桿蔓延，佔據了畫廊天台上連颱風乾旱都難以觸及的每個角落。我們不知道它們在此已經扎根了多久，但見其瘋長之勢，令人心驚。
我們沒想到將它們連根拔起竟然如此輕易，只需猛力一扯，淺根便連着沙塵整簇離地。某個夏天，我們花費了數小時檢視天台每道縫隙，機械般抹去這些植物的蹤跡。但次月，它們又悉數重生。
在查證物種時我們得知這種植物名為「落地生根」（mother of thousands）。這種植物通過在葉緣萌發新芽進行無性繁殖，幼株在落地前就已生出細小白根。我們被它們頑強的求生意志折服，任其沿着牆垣與我們的盆栽生長。
兩年前，在上次群展「Tendering」結束後不久，我們注意到它們長出了尖刺狀花苞。待到三月，洋紅色的鐘形花冠次第綻放，纖薄的花瓣泛着微光。奇妙的是，開花後母株竟相繼枯萎。資料顯示這是母體為開花耗盡能量的常態，此過程有個特別的名稱：死亡綻放。
在質疑時間本質及其不斷生成的可能性的過程中，我們找到了本次展覽的標題「Mothering」。在社會語境中，我們將孕育與生命誕生過程視作奇跡——這種便利的敘事既抹去了女性的勞動，又將她們的身體降格為容器——然而生長過程總帶着某種無情。要塑造生命，就避不開暴力與悲慟，衝突與失去。成長從來不只是概念，更是肉身的變化，是闖入自我的陌生訪客，時常令人謙卑，偶爾令人驚懼。
我們都經歷着這樣的悖論：想要治癒必須成長，想要成長必經磨礪。群展始終是我們沉思空間意義的精神儀式，在開幕閉幕、藝博會與差旅的日常運作中辟出片刻喘息。在審視合作藝術家作品時，我們在每種創作實踐中發現內省的轉向，那些致敬無形存在——有時超越人類維度——塑造新生命的元素。孕育是誕生，是滋養，更是尋覓另類且常伴隨陣痛的成長路徑——就像從母株墜落的幼芽，帶着瑩白根系，隨時準備新生。