A viewer walks past the installation and at first sees what looks like a metallic surface—industrial, reflective and architectural. Then something small happens. A wave slowly travels across the aluminum sheets. The metal bends slightly, catches the light differently, and suddenly the surface seems to breathe.

My aluminum sheets are alive to me. They bend and shift with their surroundings—delicate yet strong, protective yet vulnerable. Aluminum is originally used for roofing, a material designed to adapt to environmental forces such as heat, wind, and rain. In my work it becomes something more sensitive, almost like skin. I also see a kind of femininity in this material—resilient and powerful yet refusing inappropriate control. Even after years of working with this aluminum, I still cut my hands or leave dents in the surface often. A small dent can disrupt the entire movement of a wave, it reminds me that the material demands care and respect. 

When the wave rolls back and forth along its track, I begin to think about life as a continuum rather than a fixed beginning or end. The motion echoes Taoist philosophy, particularly the dynamic balance of Yin and Yang, like the gentle pushing hands of Tai Chi. Every movement is slightly different. Even under digital and mechanical control, the waves resist robotic predictability. They swing, roll, and respond to subtle environmental forces, introducing randomness, humor, and a sense of humanity.

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