Page Tsou’s (鄒駿昇) series of peculiar portraits in The And, Never End — (在視而不見的背後,本質,就在那裡), which is currently on display at the recently opened Agora Art Project x Space (藝譔堂), reverses the traditional form of portraiture by depicting the back of the subjects’ heads.
The face lends portraiture much of its power and demands that the viewer (often superficially) interpret the emotional and physical nuances of the visage he or she is looking at. Depicting the back of the head shifts the emphasis from the subject, freeing it from the constraints of the portrait form. This makes Tsou’s work exceptional.
The articulate, assured winner of several awards and accolades (he has drawn for the popular Swiss author Alain de Botton and the respected artist Quentin Blake, under whom Tsou studied at London’s Royal College of Art), explains the circuitous route that led to the works on display: “At first, I sketched from memory. After a thousand faces, though, I realized that memory has limitations. I couldn’t imagine anymore. At that point I sketched from real life. After 3,000 faces, it suddenly struck me: I’ve been drawing for 20 years and never bothered to focus on the back of the head,” said the artist.
Photo: Noah Buchan, Taipei Times
Tsou’s series is as much about a different way of looking at portraits as it is about how they are presented to viewers. Portraiture typically focuses the eye on one frame — an individual (or small group). The vertical and horizontal arrangement of the 120 medium-sized photos in 120 People in London, hung closely together, prompts a constant shifting of focus. Once accustomed to viewing the overall surface of the photos, however, it becomes apparent that Tsou’s work is about patterns, forms and textures.
Tsou’s pictures could be viewed like a picture of a mountain range — with its peaks and gullies, shadows and light — free from the kinds of psychological interpretations that we might apply to them because that’s what the portrait medium typically demands. These portraits are purely aesthetic.
Tsou emphasizes the landscape of the human head in a number of ways. He blanks out the background with a large white canvas (drawing the viewer’s attention to the head only). The viewer is incapable of determining where the photos were taken, or when. (The black-and-white pictures are reminiscent of daguerreotype photography of the 19th century.)
Photo Courtesy of Agora Art Project X Space
We can speculate — using the subjects’ tattoos, ear piercings and hairstyles, as well as their ethnicity and the title of the piece — that this is multicultural East London. But it could also be Johannesburg. Or Los Angeles. Regardless, this is not the point. Tsou’s pictures are not some psychological, sociological, political or trendsetting portrait of a person or place. They are random assemblages of human forms. Applying an underlying meaning to them is futile.
The above holds true for The And, a series of 27 images shot in a barbershop. Here, photography is partially erased and then replaced by illustration. Tsou says that the medium isn’t important. He’s created portraits using photography, illustration and video and says that it is how we look at the pictures and what they reveal about our own ways of seeing that matters.
Tsou’s images remind us that there is more to portraiture than the psychological disposition of its subjects. With this in mind, when we return to more traditional examples of portraiture, we are better equipped to appreciate their aesthetic beauty.
When Taiwan was battered by storms this summer, the only crumb of comfort I could take was knowing that some advice I’d drafted several weeks earlier had been correct. Regarding the Southern Cross-Island Highway (南橫公路), a spectacular high-elevation route connecting Taiwan’s southwest with the country’s southeast, I’d written: “The precarious existence of this road cannot be overstated; those hoping to drive or ride all the way across should have a backup plan.” As this article was going to press, the middle section of the highway, between Meishankou (梅山口) in Kaohsiung and Siangyang (向陽) in Taitung County, was still closed to outsiders
President William Lai (賴清德) has championed Taiwan as an “AI Island” — an artificial intelligence (AI) hub powering the global tech economy. But without major shifts in talent, funding and strategic direction, this vision risks becoming a static fortress: indispensable, yet immobile and vulnerable. It’s time to reframe Taiwan’s ambition. Time to move from a resource-rich AI island to an AI Armada. Why change metaphors? Because choosing the right metaphor shapes both understanding and strategy. The “AI Island” frames our national ambition as a static fortress that, while valuable, is still vulnerable and reactive. Shifting our metaphor to an “AI Armada”
US President Donald Trump may have hoped for an impromptu talk with his old friend Kim Jong-un during a recent trip to Asia, but analysts say the increasingly emboldened North Korean despot had few good reasons to join the photo-op. Trump sent repeated overtures to Kim during his barnstorming tour of Asia, saying he was “100 percent” open to a meeting and even bucking decades of US policy by conceding that North Korea was “sort of a nuclear power.” But Pyongyang kept mum on the invitation, instead firing off missiles and sending its foreign minister to Russia and Belarus, with whom it
The older you get, and the more obsessed with your health, the more it feels as if life comes down to numbers: how many more years you can expect; your lean body mass; your percentage of visceral fat; how dense your bones are; how many kilos you can squat; how long you can deadhang; how often you still do it; your levels of LDL and HDL cholesterol; your resting heart rate; your overnight blood oxygen level; how quickly you can run; how many steps you do in a day; how many hours you sleep; how fast you are shrinking; how