SYNTHETIC REALM
SYNTHETIC REALM
This work explores the relationship between simulacra and nature, questioning how landscapes—whether natural or man-made—can be reshaped, reconstructed, and re-imagined. By working with synthetic scenery, the project reflects on the idea that every landscape is already a layer of perception: an impression formed through memory, cultural framing, and symbolic projection. In this sense, nature itself becomes a simulacrum—an image continuously rewritten by experience, technology, and desire.

RECURRENT NIGHT
 Lying between his remains and the soil of his fatherland,
every living person now, no matter how sorrowful,
would trample his nothingness and his night.
God may have already forgotten him,
and a kind of disgrace—one might call it a kind of mercy—
is the alms offered by hatred
to delay his endless disappearance.
INTERSHORE
 Free from memory and hope,
infinite, abstract, and almost belonging to the future,
the dead is not a dead person, but death itself,
like the God of the mystic.
SAND
 Sunset is always unsettling
whether it is splendid or barren,
yet even more unsettling
is that final, desperate gleam,
which rusts the open fields
and leaves no longer upon the horizon
the clamor and arrogance of the slanting sun.
DEERFALL
 The dead is nowhere to be found,
but is merely the world’s fall and its absence,
We strip it of everything,
leaving it not a single color, not a single syllable.
ORBIT
 In the trembling fields exhaled from summer,
pure white light drowns the days,
The day
is a bleeding slit upon the shutters,
a gleam along the coast, a fever over the plains.
MIRROR
 Gray smoke drifts and blurs the distant constellations,
Now prehistory and names flow out,
And the world is nothing 
more than a few gentle sheddings of skin,
The river is still the same river,
the human is still the same human.
SILENT
 I walk toward the sleepless hour burdened by death,
w through streets where memory has nearly vanished,
through the night where time swells in abundance.
LINE
 This needle casts its longing toward the far edge of the sea,
as if it belonged to a watch seen in a dream,
or to a sleeping bird that stirs ever so slightly.
A longing crystal, which will seize,
all that night closes and day opens:
Daedalus, the labyrinth, the riddle, Oedipus?






Created by LYCHEN(YUCHENLI), 2024
Chelsea, London, UK
Authorization and consultation
Please contact me




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