𝐿𝑒𝓍𝒾𝑒

lexiepage49

Over time, photography became a fragile bridge between us. When conversation stalled and discomfort emerged, I instinctively raised the camera, turning my attention toward other “islands” — the people around us. On the beach, I could photograph strangers with ease: a child slightly detached from a group, parents absorbed in conversation while their child plays alone by the water, scattered sand structures, a younger figure positioned ahead of an older one, a dog moving independently along the shore. These moments revealed a recurring structure: figures appearing together, yet existing apart. When I turned the camera toward my aunt and uncle, however, this bridge became unstable. Their expectations of being photographed did not align with my way of seeing. The poses they preferred felt unfamiliar to me, while my approach was not fully understood by them. In this misalignment, photography both connected us and exposed the gap between us — a tension that the images quietly record. In one image, they stand on a balcony looking out toward the landscape, while I remain inside, separated from them by a half-open glass door — close enough to see, yet unable to fully enter the space they inhabit. As I observed strangers on the beach, I began to recognize that this structure extends beyond our relationship. Families and groups appeared as unified entities from a distance, just as we might appear to others simply as “an Asian family.” In this mutual act of looking, individual differences are compressed into a singular external form. I understand this condition as an archipelago — a formation of islands that gather without merging. Bound by inherited ties, we remain in proximity, yet separated by forces that are fluid and difficult to grasp. In this work, closeness is not given, but negotiated. Connection does not resolve into unity, but persists as tension — between recognition and unfamiliarity, presence and withdrawal.