This project reflects on Taiwanese Indigenous identity as something carried—not only through bloodline, but through landscape, time, and inherited silence. Taiwan is often described as an origin point of Austronesian cultures, yet Indigenous communities have lived through centuries of renaming, assimilation, and displacement. What remains is not a single narrative, but a fragmented continuity: interrupted, pressured, and still alive.
I photograph Indigenous presence not as portraiture of individuals, but as a collective state. Faces are blurred, concealed, or dissolved through long exposure—not to hide identity, but to reveal its condition: shaped by history, rewritten by power, and held together through endurance. The body becomes a vessel of memory, carrying what cannot always be spoken.
The images move between ocean, river, and forest—places where knowledge is not stored in archives, but embedded in material life. Water appears repeatedly as both witness and force: it erodes, cleanses, and returns without conclusion. Figures emerge in smoke, motion, and ritual gesture, suspended between disappearance and persistence. Traditional clothing, symbols, and tools are treated not as nostalgia, but as living traces—quiet forms of resistance within the present.
I am drawn to photography as a medium that holds time imperfectly. Like memory, it fractures, repeats, and leaves gaps. These photographs do not attempt to reconstruct a lost past. They remain with what has been altered, what survives, and what continues to insist on being seen.
