Room 房间
Available at:
Far-Near, Blank Mag Space （NYC)
Phyllis (Taipei)
Trees Like Water (Seoul)
Out of Stock:
Dashwood, Printed Matter, Bungee Space (NYC)
OR
Email the artist for a copy (Asia and NYC)
Photo Book
New York City, U.S.
2025
12.5 × 17.5 cm
Pages: 184
Laser print on paper and PVC
Exposed spine with PVC slipcase
Published by linlin Plum
Edition of 200
A house is not a home. A home is not where I belong. I wrote that when I left Chengdu at 18. Knowing I was queer before I had the words for it, I distanced myself from my family — often by locking the door. Back then, home felt like a specific location, more like a room, an space that tied us together. A room is just a room — a place to sleep, to pause, to write and rewrite. The room and I share memories for a time, but I must always leave.
At 21, after moving to New York, I had my first room of my own. I began to root myself in this unfamiliar place, unconsciously searching for something to hold on to: the feeling of being seen, of being valued. Slowly, I found a sense of belonging through the people around me. My understanding of home began to shift. That feeling quietly took root, and I now look back on the place where I used to double-check the lock. Home has become a feeling.
The PVC outer cover, printed with a tablecloth of apples and grapes, wraps the book in something both familiar and a little kitsch — a domestic image that’s almost cliché, but still oddly comforting. The key on the cover is a scan of a Kallitype print — a replica of the one to my room in New York.
To open this book is to enter a room. This is a room I built with photographs — and it will remain still until the book withers, the strings fall, or the color fades.
一个房子不是家，一个家不是我归属的地方。’18岁离开成都那年我写下。在无法言明以前，我就意识到自己是个酷儿。当时我与家人保持距离的办法通常是锁上门。家在当时像是一个房间，一个将我们连接在一起的地方。但房间只是房间——一个睡觉、写作和停留的地方，我和它共享一些记忆，但我总会离开。
21岁搬到纽约后，我有了自己的第一个房间。我开始把自己扎根在这个陌生的地方，不断寻找被看到、被重视的感觉。慢慢地，围绕在身边的人们让我找到了归属感，家不再是特定的某个地方，而是一种感觉。
PVC 封面上印有的桌布熟悉也略显俗气，代表着几乎是陈词滥调，却仍令人心安的家庭形象。硬皮封面的钥匙，是我用Kallitype工艺复刻成图像的纽约家的钥匙。
打开书就是进入一个我用照片建造的房间——它会永恒存在，哪怕书页散落、颜色褪去。
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At 21, after moving to New York, I had my first room of my own. I began to root myself in this unfamiliar place, unconsciously searching for something to hold on to: the feeling of being seen, of being valued. Slowly, I found a sense of belonging through the people around me. My understanding of home began to shift. That feeling quietly took root, and I now look back on the place where I used to double-check the lock. Home has become a feeling.
The PVC outer cover, printed with a tablecloth of apples and grapes, wraps the book in something both familiar and a little kitsch — a domestic image that’s almost cliché, but still oddly comforting. The key on the cover is a scan of a Kallitype print — a replica of the one to my room in New York.
To open this book is to enter a room. This is a room I built with photographs — and it will remain still until the book withers, the strings fall, or the color fades.
一个房子不是家，一个家不是我归属的地方。’18岁离开成都那年我写下。在无法言明以前，我就意识到自己是个酷儿。当时我与家人保持距离的办法通常是锁上门。家在当时像是一个房间，一个将我们连接在一起的地方。但房间只是房间——一个睡觉、写作和停留的地方，我和它共享一些记忆，但我总会离开。
21岁搬到纽约后，我有了自己的第一个房间。我开始把自己扎根在这个陌生的地方，不断寻找被看到、被重视的感觉。慢慢地，围绕在身边的人们让我找到了归属感，家不再是特定的某个地方，而是一种感觉。
PVC 封面上印有的桌布熟悉也略显俗气，代表着几乎是陈词滥调，却仍令人心安的家庭形象。硬皮封面的钥匙，是我用Kallitype工艺复刻成图像的纽约家的钥匙。
打开书就是进入一个我用照片建造的房间——它会永恒存在，哪怕书页散落、颜色褪去。
