A soft light reaching (2019)
Archival Inkjet Print
100 by 150cm
Unique
For those whose pain is
constant, there is no way out.
But see there, a light!
Beyond the darkness
beyond the folds of black,
a soft light reaching.
The paintings were created with a single stationary light source and the camera as a moving brush.
a deep black breath (2018)
4mins 39secs
Two Channel Video Installation
So here you stand, on
the edge of a black horizon
not alive, not dead.
A deep black breath explores the memories, visions and the fear of confronting a near-death experience.
Bury me below a mountain (2017)
Archival Inkjet Print
100 by 150cm
Edition of 3
Do not cage me in concrete
for I have not lived.
Bury me below a mountain
so that I may yet.
The Naxi ethnic minority believe in living harmoniously with nature. Following tradition, this relationship can be seen in their burial custom. On Yuan Bao Mountain, overlooking the Lijiang basin, lies a grave site where the Naxi people bury their dead. Scattered along the mountain are many unmarked graves that have plant life growing on and around them. With the passage of time, these unmarked graves eventually return to nature, leaving only traces of its previous existence.
归宿
纳西族与大自然互相依存，和谐相处。这密切的关系从纳西族葬礼的方式就可以看出来。丽江集中了纳西文化的精华，并保留了元宝山上的许多坟墓。在俯视丽江盆地的坟山上，藏匿着许多没有墓碑的坟墓。这些由一堆石头组成的坟墓隐居在坟山上的各个角落里，周围长满野草野花，融入在自然环境当中。随着时间的琢磨，匿名的坟墓也将会逐渐降解，最终回归大自然。
Void Decks (2017)
Archival Inkjet Print on Baryta Photographique Paper
56 by 84cm
Edition of 2 + 1AP
At mid-day I walk
through a void, in between the
shades of white and black
Between Bridges (2017)
Three-channel video
5 mins 11 secs
Nestled between the colonial Long Bien bridge and the modern Chuong Duong bridge, an anabranch diverts from the Red River. Between Bridges looks at Vietnam and its modernisation and how its citizens welcome the present but live in the past. The observation of the activities along the anabranch reveal a slower pace of life as the world endlessly streams past.
The river bed listens,
between two bridges,
the past rumbling along,
and the future rushing by.
It listens,
when the sun sets,
to the hundreds of birds
drowning the honks of Hanoi.
Between Bridges by Ernest Wu on Vimeo.
Black Boxes (2016)
Archival Inkjet Print on Ilford Galerie Smooth Cotton Rag
100 by 150cm
Edition of 3 + 2AP
It towers above. 9, 10, 24 stories up. It is not land that touches the sky; it is concrete that cuts the horizon. It is lives stacked, one on top of the other, row after row after row. And all I see are black boxes. Black on white on black.
Onward (2015)
Archival Inkjet Print on watercolour paper
29.7 by 42 cm
Edition of 3
It is dusk. In my mind, a humdrum of ideas. I cannot see its end. The landscape has always been a treadmill and I, in the train cabin, have always been unmoving. Unchanging. I am here. I am here. A lamp post goes by. A building. A tree. I think about change. The landscape changes. There used to be a hill. It used to be a field. There used to be forest. Now it is a HDB. Now it is a condominium. I think about paintings. Brush strokes. Thin lines. Thick lines. Broad sweeping strokes. Careful line accents. Harsh harsh. I think about light. The lights turn on. They turn off. Change, light, paint. Can I paint with my camera? I am unmoving. I am here. The landscape is a treadmill. The landscape paints itself. Click. The train drags my camera. The landscape wants to be painted. The shutter closes. Barely a whisper. No one notices. Click. The landscape drags itself past. Present. Past. It is. And then no more. Nothing stays for too long. The landscape is there. Not quite. It is painted. Not quite. The landscape has changed. The landscape changes. The landscape will change.
Ernest Wu 