May, 2022

It is opening night at the Baron Gallery: students are bustling about, cooing over pieces,

friends enthusiastically congratulating the artists. A chorus of voices echoes throughout the space. But amongst the thrum, there is a quiet vulnerability to be found, softly radiating from Vincent Zhu’s work. Every piece is a meditation: on the self, the human-intercepted environment, on what it means to be alone.

One’s first encounter with Vincent’s work, and the entrance to the exhibition itself, is a

sculptural and photographic work: Unlockdown. A red-rimmed white enamel bowl filled with ash stands on a pedestal. Scattered on the ground are golden paper boats, their metallic quality reflecting off one another – creating a glowing pond of sorts. Three photographs taken in Suzhou, China during the COVID pandemic hang above the bowl, with haunting melancholiness. Infrastructure, nature, and the marks of singular people intertwine in these images. The first image was taken on Shuanghong Rd (双虹路) and pictures a forest of propaganda from the Chinese government. The center image is taken on Wulong Tang ( 五龙堂) and features a small shrine or temple of sorts, next to which a poster of COVID policies leans against a tree. The final, rightmost image is taken on Shiquan St (十全街 ): the grate of a shutdown store frames the image, and remains of traditional new year decorations hang solemnly. This entire piece is dedicated to those lost during the pandemic, not through COVID-19 but rather individuals who did not receive the health care they needed through the negligence of the Chinese government.

If one steps further into the gallery, they are confronted by a line of around sixty 4x6 photographs pressed up against each other, also known as the *Plankton* series. The solitude

emanating from this work is captivating. These postcard-sized works were started in 2019, and are all self-portraits. Each image contains the shadow of Vincent, a translucent black outline that melds into different spaces, mostly around Oberlin. These photographs have such a vivid sense of melancholy that it almost feels invasive to look at them, as if peeking into a journal or diary hidden beneath a pillow. In his artist statement, Vincent mentions this series as an investigation of his identity “as a foreigner in the landscape of the empty American town.” This sense of alienation within a desolate rural environment sets the tonality for his entire work.

As one wanders into the farthest most space in Baron, three large prints attached to ceiling high scrolls fold downwards, each image intersecting the natural and human-made material world. On the left of the scrolls is a potted plant, casting a shadow against the floor, mimicking the shadows in the “Plankton series.” Another pedestal stands to the right, highlighting a glass vase which contains a miniature world. This particular work appropriates the golden rule of the Japanese ikebana, which dictates that everything should be arranged according to their natural hierarchy. Vincent inverts this rule, incorporating unnatural objects – screws, wire, bottle caps – to create a dystopian terrarium of sorts.

Vincent Zhu’s three series – *Unlockdown*, *Plankton*, and *Gardens* – all contribute to a

larger questioning of belonging, of finding a sense of self in a place where human infrastructure violently encroaches into the natural world, and building a home within a foreign country. By capturing his environment, Vincent attempts to find a middle ground in which he can live – an internal space between Suzhou and Oberlin – his shadow becoming a marker of presence. This temporality of existence, and the universal feeling of loneliness – a place of pain, a place of joy.