Outsiders at Heart: Where the Lab's True Value Lies

This is the first time the "ADAM – Artists' Lab" is being conducted across two cities. The same group of artists first spent two weeks in residence in Bangkok, and a month later, they moved on to another two weeks in Taipei. We met in the hotel lobby on the first day of the lab in Bangkok. Having already gone through interviews and pre-residence meetings, as a facilitator in this lab, it felt as though we had known each other for quite some time. The moment we met, there was an immediate sense of familiarity. Our main venue, Buffalo Bridge Gallery, was less than a ten-minute walk from the hotel, leading us to move as a group most of the time—walking, grabbing coffee, and even going to the restroom together. The gallery's elevator required a key card, so our short breaks often became collective restroom trips.

One side of the rehearsal space at Buffalo Bridge Gallery featured a grand window, through which a large portrait of King, Rama X hung on the opposite building. His image is ubiquitous on the streets of Bangkok, not exactly a unique sight, yet having such a large and clear portrait directly in front of us—especially while discussing topics that might be seen as offensive to him—made it hard for many of us to ignore his gaze, always "watching" us, even though I am not one of his people.

There’s a certain subtlety that always accompanies collective creative labs. After months of preparation, arranging a time to be in a specific city, doing our best to set aside other works and duties to ensure full dedication to this period—to immerse ourselves completely, to explore, and to create an environment where we can deeply get to know each other. Yet at the same time, we are all aware that this is a very controlled environment, like a lab where external factors are meticulously managed. We didn’t just happen to meet by chance; we were "selected" to meet. This unspoken understanding of being "selected" to encounter one another also carries with it the silent agreement to open our hearts and start from scratch. After all, if we came with a concrete creative plan in mind, what would be the point of a collective creative experiment? And even more uncertain is whether the other artists in the lab and I will be in tune or not—that remains to be seen.

The guest curator, Sasapin Siriwanij, developed the curatorial concept of "Theirborhood," seeking to create experiences and perspectives from multiple communities and to explore unsung silhouettes. Building on this concept, along with the dual city of our residence, we gradually condensed on the theme of "water" and its extended imagery. Geographically, both cities are divided by major rivers: the Chao Phraya River separates the old and new towns of Bangkok, the Tamsui River divides Taipei City from New Taipei City. "Water" serves as a barrier, a connection, and a symbol of flow. This flow extends beyond the physical geography of the cities to include the fluidity, particularly in terms of fluidity of gender identities, as well as the self-organized civic protests/demonstrations. These focused themes mirrored and resonated with these artists’ concerns and practices as well.

In terms of our schedule, it followed two parallel tracks. One track focused on internal group exchange, and the other centered on exploring the city. The two often overlap indeed. Within the group, we consciously tried to set aside formalities, such as self-introductions. We avoided immediately labeling ourselves as specific types of artists or listing our past works. Instead, each participant led a one-hour workshop, where we didn’t delve into the actual content of our past creations, but rather used the workshop format as a means of sharing and teaching, allowing us to touch upon the thought processes behind their works. By first understanding how others think and act before seeing their achievements, everything perhaps becomes more vibrant and imaginative. Most of the artists transformed their past practices into a shared gear or creative method for the workshops, allowing us to gain not only intellectual understanding but also a bodily sense of connection.

I still remember, towards the end of Amrita Hepi's workshop, she asked us to close our eyes and move closer to one another, not by using our limbs, but through a kind of bodily sensing. We became like earthworms, feeling one another through our skin. Workshops often have this magical moment, freeing us from the constraints of daily contexts. Soon, our bodies drew closer, and at the same time, we became aware of how each of us embodied thought. Even until the last day of the Taipei phase, we never scheduled a session to formally share our past works, yet I believe by then, we already knew one another profoundly.

Another track of our journey took us along the vanished canal routes of Bangkok, imagining the past conflicts of Teochew and Swatow immigrants by the Chao Phraya River. We also passed through the largest slum, where the lack of infrastructure frequently puts the area at risk of fires. In Taipei, we explored Shezi Island, reflecting on urban development and the residents' right to live, gazing across the river to both Taipei City and New Taipei City, and wondering when the former mayor’s dream of a "Manhattan of Taipei" might be realized or never. In Bangkok, we walked the Royal Road, searching for neglected monuments and memories of forgotten massacres and public protests. In Taipei, we invited scholar Pei-Yi Lu to share how artists intervened and practiced during the Sunflower Movement and walk with artist Jimmy Chang's work recreated the soundscape of protests surrounding the Legislative Yuan (Parliament). In Bangkok, we explored Silom, the largest LGBTQ entertainment district and artist Missoat brought us to think about "queer time" through karaoke; in Taipei, we visited the drag queen bars in Ximending and Linsen North Road.

The unfamiliar urban landscapes naturally created a sense of novelty, but these experiences were not merely for the sake of city exploration; more often, they were more about creating co-shared experiences for the group. Each artist came from a different background, and these encounters extended into reflections on their own cultures, home cities, and relevant issues. This understanding refracted into a multi-dimensional cross-cultural insight, far beyond a simple dual-city comparison. For example, Japanese artist Nagara Wada, in addition to visiting the red-light districts of the Japanese community in Bangkok and the hostess bars of Linsen North Road in Taipei in scheduled, sought out the Don Quijote stores (Japanese chained grocery store) in both cities. These communities, shaped either by the southward expansion of industrial/capital powers or as remnants of colonial history, felt both foreign and familiar to her. She even joked, "I can buy souvenirs from all over Japan at Don Quijote here and pretend I'm traveling domestically, but in reality, I'm in Bangkok or Taipei..." This globalized yet distinctly varied landscape was subtly reflected in her presentation as well.

These experiences of exploration acted more as catalysts. The artists were never required to create works focused on Bangkok or Taipei, but we firmly believed that these experiences would quietly ferment, becoming key inspirations for their future creations. We gathered together, weaving a complex network of texts, without any preconceived direction. We valued the process more than the final product, sought conversation over conclusions, and welcomed a plurality of ideas and needs. This openness without the pressure of making artwork, is what made the lab so valuable.

It was evident in the presentations at the ADAM Meetings. Leu Wijee often described his experience as “half-understanding,” a term that hinted not only at the cultural differences but also at the linguistic limitations we faced, with English being our only common language, occasionally causing him moments of disconnect. He organically embodied this "half-understanding" by combining “gossip” and “massage.” You could feel the influence of both cities in his work, yet it didn’t reduce to a mere exploration of "Thai massage" or "Taiwanese acupressure." Other artists also developed their ways of engaging in internal and external dialogues. Naruebet Jaksusuwan observed the ubiquitous smiles in Thai and Taiwanese service cultures and used that as a springboard to explore the energies behind meme culture and social movements. Yon Natalie Mik focused on the street laborers and teenagers who couldn't access the theater, Chen Yu-Dien connected the severance of the royal family with the authoritarian body politics of Taiwan during its martial law period. Some artists navigated in the inner group, focused on the idea of "destiny". In one evening dinner, we discovered that three of the seven artists shared the same birthday—a mysterious coincidence! Inspired by this, Amrita Hepi conceived a theme around "destiny," inviting nearly all the artists to participate in a collective performance. Đoàn Thanh Toàn, on the other hand, chose to collaborate without a specific theme, aiming to position himself as a link between the others.

In increasing mobility under globalization, there are countless platforms —residencies, festivals, and annual meetings—each with distinct goals, whether it's to present work, engage in exchanges, or facilitate academic discourses. Often, we participate with specific goals in mind. The ADAM Artists’ Lab, however, embraces the autonomy of artists and the organically creative process. While there is always an eventual outcome to the lab, the process remains as open and flexible as possible, allowing for unexpected encounters and surprises. In such a short time, Bangkok and Taipei remain mere impressions to us, and the friendships between the artists are just beginning to blossom—we are all, in the end, "outsiders." But being an "outsider" isn’t a negative thing. It becomes a position from which we can constantly provoke thought.

But what does it mean to truly understand a city? It's difficult to define. Having participated in the Lab three times (one time each as an artist, guest curator, and facilitator), I’ve come to realize that even after living in Taipei for nearly two decades, the curiosity and observations of these artists from afar continue to reveal new aspects of the city to me. It's as if they’ve fitted me with a special lens, allowing me to see familiar scenes in a fresh light. In those moments, everything feels "foreign" once again. In the two weeks after the lab, I found myself unconsciously slowing my pace on the streets of Taipei, moving through the city that I am familiar with a sense of curiosity as an outsider.