David Castillo Gallery Showcases Asian Art Through “Alien/ΛᄂIΣП”

Similarly ambiguous is Twisted bones: A hug (2023) by Liu Xin. Xin’s work hangs on the wall and includes two mouths without a face hurling bone-like tendrils made of bronze and porcelain teeth. 

A third sculptural work is i’m on it, 包在我身上 by Huidi Xiang. While this piece has a more representational quality than the other aforementioned works, it is a disjointed cartoon-ish hand made of 3D printed resin, motorized and holding a washcloth. 

It emits an invisible whisper, a notation that encompasses generational labor, class structures, and care. Each of these works could have fallen out of the paintings that are present.

In The Fifer (피리는여인), a 2024 oil on linen work by artist Sun Woo, a lone faucet appears in a dark crevice or cave. It emerges from the ground not unlike the head of a serpent or a smaller version of the infamous sandworms of Lynch’s 1984 film, Dune. There is an emotional current pulsating in the painted ground, but also functioning as a connector between the artists present. 

Simultaneously uplifting and oppressive, dictionary.com defines the word alien as “a creature from outer space; extraterrestrial, a resident of one country who was born in or owes allegiance to another country and has not acquired citizenship by naturalization in the country of residence, a foreigner, a plant or animal species not originating where it is found.” 

Yanqing Pei seems to address this conglomerate of meanings head-on with their oil painting TBD (2024). The work features a softly colored, grey-toned palette and a figure buried under a plant resembling a tulip with pointed and spindly leaves. 

We only see one eye and the subject’s nose peering skyward and wonder, “Were they transported into a land whose soil is less than accommodating?” The gaze could be read as cautious, scared, or perhaps just disillusioned. 

Yesiyu Zhao constructs a narrative with Alien /ΛᄂIΣП that is as comforting as it is disarming. Not dissimilar from the immigrant experience or that of the displaced, the work references moments of collective cultural memories, such as those represented by tea ceremonies, gardening, and mask making.

However, simmering below the surface is an uncertainty or defiance. This might be most evident in Knockout (2024) by Amanda Ba and Self Portrait: Dragon Girl (2024) by Song Kun. 

Ba’s Knockout features a female-presenting figure getting punched in the face, their left cheek red and bruised from a strike, now frozen in time. 

Kun’s painting features a soft glowing pink surrounding a shrouded figure, eyes peering outward, ready to strike. In one instance, it’s as if the figure in Self Portrait: Dragon Girl exists in a moment outside the frame for Knockout. Each of these two figures are engaged in a battle of sorts with unseen opponents, but somehow feel like heroes. 

Kun visage is loosely defined by an oil sketch of a dragon that appears to wrap around their body. It might be the most important work in the show, as a stance is taken, form contorted, histrionics embraced, and fortitude is presented— an unwavering strength. 

This exhibition is the first of its kind in Miami and gleefully declares so by spotlighting the Asian diaspora work shipped from Antwerp, Austin, Bangkok, Beijing, Berlin, Brooklyn, Chicago, Hong Kong, Huangshan, London, Los Angeles, New York, Newark, Seoul, Shanghai, and Tokyo. 

The variation and diversity of cities alone challenge the viewer to contemplate the Asian experience on a global scale. These makers have the opportunity to be part of a type of unveiling, peeling apart layers of an onion skin in order to get to the core, where unbeknownst to some, a diamond lives. Once light hits that space, all it can do is shine.